Stone silent before the ridicule and the lies,
with a crown of thorns, a kingly robe about just my size.
Dreams and warnings told have nothing to do with that innocent man.

Flung from the arms of grace, into the jaws of iniquity.
Righteousness stands on the hill of the skull, while man's anger murders Love.
In weakness death is gone. Prepare the trumpets for this victory song.
They believed that only the cursed were hung from a tree.

As the blood soaked into the wood and dried,
before He lifted his head, questioned God and died.
Through His mind went my name and my face, as well as yours, as He offers us grace.

We've esteemed him stricken and afflicted,
one had to be crushed for our transgressions. The life of one a ransom for many.

Crucified between two thieves, one would mock and the other believe.
Righteousness stands on the hill of the skull, to the grave and to resurrection.
The grief swayer proved vindicated. Prepare the trumpets for this victory song.

From the tomb comes Atonement personified.
"Feel the palms of my hands, the wound in my side."
What was once known as dead is now alive. What was once known as dead is now alive.