The weight of guilt is leaden, unseen.
Each sin a shadow, pressing the soul.
We walked bound, wrists raw with debt.
A debt we denied, yet always knew.
The wages were death, that final gavel.
But Christ bled crimson into our ruin.
In his hands, the scars spoke truth.
Each drop a pardon, each stripe release.
Blood carved a highway through darkness.
For belief, a key into eternity\'s door.
Forgiveness flowed red over barren hearts.
In his sacrifice, the debt was bridged.
Not perish, but rise with opened lungs.
Christ’s work, a cornerstone of grace\'s home.
We trust the hands that hold all time.
Eternal life lifted us from the grave.