Passover the loss of our Master,
To become the son of God,
On the first occurrence of the Sabbath,
After the paschal moon grieves over our past.
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A kiss of betrayal from his own disciple,
Breach of trust and blames shuffled,
But the apprehended Christ spoke not a word,
To prove the world of being the Anointed One.
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The priest claimed the Son of Man,
To have blasphemed the God we trust,
Pushing for a life sentence,
To crucify the Lord himself.
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Six hours of pain underwent,
With last three hours in compete dark.
As the almighty gave up his spirit,
The land quaked breaking shrines apart.
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As the centurion declared him,
Truly the Son of God,
They wrapped him into a linen clothing,
Placing his cadaver in his new tomb, carved.
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Three days later, from the tomb of rock,
Rose from dead, the Messiah we lost,
Turning the Black Friday, to a Happy Easter,
Making us recount on the love of our dear.