Currency of Blood

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.