Gethsemane
That precious morning ,
We travel through a Garden
I looked at Master,
Marching to his Death,
Hearing every single vibration,
of his step,
My heart pounded,
As if it was about to pop
out of my chest,
As One of our own,
kissed him on his cheek,
Marking a spot,
No a stain,
that could not be...
We travel through a Garden
I looked at Master,
Marching to his Death,
Hearing every single vibration,
of his step,
My heart pounded,
As if it was about to pop
out of my chest,
As One of our own,
kissed him on his cheek,
Marking a spot,
No a stain,
that could not be...