I know of a woman,
who took her life by the hand,
with her ears, eyes closed, she gave it up to Jesus.
When a bandwagon is moving, she doesn't join.
Her eyes, ever fixed on the man hung on the tree.
On the man hung on the tree, is her feet firm on.
The enemy went to her as a flood,
she was unmoved, she remained unmoved,
the flood gathered around her, then refused to leave,
in a twinkle of an eye, she was buried in the flood.
She got to the lowest, she faced the dead end,
in the same style the man hung on the tree, got to the grave.
But after three days, the man defeated the grave,
in style and with class. In style and with class,
she climbed over the waters,
and walked over them like a model on the runway.
Pointing to the man hung on the tree,
buried in the grave and now sitting on the throne,
as where all her help migrated from.
©dos_k
D