Is there room in the tomb
Of our sun and our moon.
All creation stands waiting.

It's filled with transgressions,
Our ungoldly sharp sins,
A shroud unstitched by Seraphim,
With heavenly hosts on the pin.

It's darker outside than the light within.
And the temperatures rising,
There'll be no denying,
There's room in the tomb,
The sun has risen,
The curtains are torn,
All sins were forgiven
That first Easter Morn.