A garden to cherish with so much to enjoy.
Should be easy to obey
God's only given command.
We paint him as some cosmic killjoy.
So we refuse, come what may,
and hide from his face's demand.
Where are you?
Where are you?
Through the night they were wrestling,
leading him to strike
the portentous blow.
His for the giving was the blessing,
but the giver's name
was not yet for the recipient to know.
Who are you?
Who are you?
Powers of darkness and deceit
getting a stern reproach
are left with no choice but to flee.
Well on their way to defeat,
trembling on approach
of the one with mission to set free.
Who is he?
Who is he?
He sees Eve's daughter in plight.
By her lust or despair,
found with illicit lover.
Her shame of nakedness in sight,
yet the guilt of others
her sin will now uncover.
Where are they?
Where are they?
With iron swords and spikes of wood
men approach the garden
with judgment hardly tentative.
The pretend-servants of public good
have now come to arrest
the only true representative.
Where is he?
Where is he?
Cry of the incomprehensible languish
witnessed by the one graced
with having borne him in her womb.
Her moment of unconsolable anguish
the precious son on the cross
crying out and soon carried to the tomb.
Why did you?
Why did you?
The Sabbath passed, the sun now rising.
Their minds still residing
in dark tomb's hopeless gloom.
At the garden tomb a sight so surprising,
still slow to understand
death itself had met its doom.
Where is he?
Where is he?
Accompanying them on their journey to night
then breaking bread amongst them
as the True Bread himself was broken.
Eager hearts burning with the freshness of light
new eyes now open to see
what the Living, Risen One had spoken.
Were they not?
Were they not?
He stands knocking on heart's door.
Arriving here for a meal,
bringing the invite back to garden.
No soul should dare to demand more
than the one who will heal.
No time to let your heart harden.
Will you open?
Will you open?
Should be easy to obey
God's only given command.
We paint him as some cosmic killjoy.
So we refuse, come what may,
and hide from his face's demand.
Where are you?
Where are you?
Through the night they were wrestling,
leading him to strike
the portentous blow.
His for the giving was the blessing,
but the giver's name
was not yet for the recipient to know.
Who are you?
Who are you?
Powers of darkness and deceit
getting a stern reproach
are left with no choice but to flee.
Well on their way to defeat,
trembling on approach
of the one with mission to set free.
Who is he?
Who is he?
He sees Eve's daughter in plight.
By her lust or despair,
found with illicit lover.
Her shame of nakedness in sight,
yet the guilt of others
her sin will now uncover.
Where are they?
Where are they?
With iron swords and spikes of wood
men approach the garden
with judgment hardly tentative.
The pretend-servants of public good
have now come to arrest
the only true representative.
Where is he?
Where is he?
Cry of the incomprehensible languish
witnessed by the one graced
with having borne him in her womb.
Her moment of unconsolable anguish
the precious son on the cross
crying out and soon carried to the tomb.
Why did you?
Why did you?
The Sabbath passed, the sun now rising.
Their minds still residing
in dark tomb's hopeless gloom.
At the garden tomb a sight so surprising,
still slow to understand
death itself had met its doom.
Where is he?
Where is he?
Accompanying them on their journey to night
then breaking bread amongst them
as the True Bread himself was broken.
Eager hearts burning with the freshness of light
new eyes now open to see
what the Living, Risen One had spoken.
Were they not?
Were they not?
He stands knocking on heart's door.
Arriving here for a meal,
bringing the invite back to garden.
No soul should dare to demand more
than the one who will heal.
No time to let your heart harden.
Will you open?
Will you open?
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