I know how much You suffered
upon that cruel stake.
Separated from Your Father,
You died of thirst that day.
Before the day was over
they laid you in the grave.
O' Yahoshua the Nazerite,
died that we might be saved.

Nailed before the elements
by His Bride to be.
From thirst Your tongue was swelling
as You hung in agony.
The harsh wind dried Your skin,
men were shouting blasphemy.
With muscles torn and wracked with pain,
innocent love died for me...

Three days and nights You layed there,
embraced in deaths sleep.
Yahh's Spirit moved upon You
and rose You to Your feet.
Your Father called You to Him,
to come sit by His side.
The Lamb of life has risen,
Worthy of Your Father's pride...

"Borderline believers
lukewarm in Yahh's Way.
Some say I'm not a Nazerite,
they drink then rise to play.
A snare is their refreshment,
for they prefer to think.
Rather than living water,
my blood is raging drink."

Yahoshua had no need of wine,
Truth bared for those who seek.
He thirsted for His Father's love,
a spiritual drink unseen.
And at the end He still refused
the wine sop on a reed.
Died thirsting from a broken heart,
a Nazerite indeed!...

©Copyrighted 1985