My king wears a crown of thorns
Upon a bloodied wounded brow
He has fought for me in every battle
Faithless as I am
He still loves me somehow
Iron Nails are his golden sceptre,
a wooden cross his magnificent throne
His sword a reed that drips with gall
His great palace
Our hearts of cold stone
His robe is a cloak of ignominy
He wraps it round my dark fearing
Deafens me to the words of my foes
With Just a touch
it’s hem brings me healing
My king blesses with hands that are pierced
Spills his blood in case I may thirst
Gives His body that I’ll never hunger
Shows us of mercy
Where the least may come first
When you kneel before my king
Abandon your heart to those eyes
Submit as the poorest of servants before him
As his beloved child
You find you will rise
If you trust in his gaze and remain in him
Hold nothing back from my glorious king
The moment you dare lay your head on his lap
You will know
just how long he’s been waiting
Does your king offer up his life for you?
Suffer for the lost and depraved?
Would your king think of you as he’s dying?
About how now
at last you’ll be saved
If you can, all aware of your poverty
Find a place in your life to bow down
If you submit in awe to His wonder
He may bless you
with your own thorny crown
