My lord, My friend

My Lord, My friend.
Blood smearing his face.
Disbelief in the form of tears.
Well up in my eyes.
Releasing my anger, but also my grief.
For that man hangs upon that cross.
His helpless shell, lying dead.
Upon that wooden, barbaric, splintered cross.

As he lies on cold stone, in a cold tomb.
I tenderly stroke his face.
Jesus is his name.
He is my lord.
Broken, I head out.
I weep as I collapse on to the floor.
He,s gone, my lord and friend is gone.

Days later, I rejoice when he rose from the grave.
And appeared to my friends, and told them he was safe.
The chains of death, broken in two.
As the blood flows victorious, the blood that cleanses sin.
Hallelujah, I cry as my lord is alive.
And a smile spreads across my face, from ear to ear.

I know where he is, my lord and my king.
Sat upon a golden throne, next to his dad.
The creator king.
And his mansions has many room,s reserved for you and me.
WHEN WE MEET HIM IN THE AIR,WE WILL BE FREE