Forbidden life, a thorny iron around my neck;

To pierce and bleed, wherever I turn my gaze;

Upon the good or evil, fine or foul;

I walk with disease upon my soul, waiting to cause my fall.

 

I am ashamed for them to know;

The blood they see, it is my own;

From craning my head too far to the left;

Then thrashing back in fear and dread.

 

I see no relief, but through my life to take;

Not death that frightens, but to live for life’s sake;

When clawing sins do leave their pain;

And shame and fear and hopelessness remain.

 

And yet I must move forward still;

For Jesus, his own blood  did he spill;

And thorny vines around him pierced;

And nailed him in the sinner’s place.

 

And if he came to die for me;

And pierce his body on that tree;

Then courage I will also take;

To carry on, my fears forsake.

 

Do I dread, and did he not;

Under the moon, in that garden spot;

To sweat drops of blood at horror’s arrival;

But call sin sin, and die for me.

 

He did not struggle with my sins;

Yet struggle he did, for my retrieval;

From the very things that sting my heart;

He saw, he knew, he gave his all.

 

I may not be all I wish for now;

I cannot loose this thorny bound;

But not in fear will I endure;

Only in sorrow, as I keep still.

 

Tis faith he sees within my heart;

Tis faith he wanted from the start;

Tis faith I ever more shall find;

What I cannot free myself, his love unbinds.