Though the Earth Cried out for blood
Her billows calmed on raging seas
for the souls of men she craved
Sun and moon from balcony
Turned their head in disbelief
Their precious Love would taste the sting
The first born of the slain
So three days in darkness slept
The Morning Sun of righteousness
But rose to shame the throes of death
Now daughters and the sons of men
Would pay not their dues again
The debt of blood they owed was rent
When the day rolled a new
The first born of the slain
The first born of the slain
One time once and for all More from John Mark McMillan