Still

Every time I lie,
I pound another nail,
and secure His dy-ing.

For every impure thought,
I add to the crucifixton,
which was bought,
with His blood.

For every anger that
I feel,
His death for
me, becomes more real.

Two thousand years
have come and gone,
and with every sin,
I spit upon, the Cross.

The Father knew what I
would be..
He was the One
who created me.

Yet still He sent
His only Son,
and in doing that
a Victory was won.

For even in my sinful state
I realize how truly Great,
the sacrifice He did for me.

"Forgive me, Father,"
my Heart does cry
"for everytime, I have
let sin stop by."

His Love, convicts me
of all sin, and I strive
to be pure again...and again..
and again..

In That, still there is
His victory's win.