Passover is upon us. Time to slay
the Lamb, perfect, life laid down, silent, bound.
Remember when the death angel came ‘round.
Put blood on the door to live one more day.
But, how much longer can we live this way?
Kill, remember, repeat. In this we’ve found
solace in sacrifice each time around.
But does the lamb’s blood something greater say?
Alas, God himself a lamb will provide.
A lamb in a tree at time appointed.
On the hill of the Lord, he’ll see to it.
Blood spilled, body broken, darkness defied
Covering of blood for his anointed.
On the hill of the Lord, he’ll see to it.
mark t. collins 