It was a fine Sunday morning in church two bins
one of blessing ,
the other for my sins .
the sins that lay before me to many for me to count ,
my blessings in Christ Jesus like falling stars on a cloudless night .

Now I had never had chocolate before this very morn ,
there it was from the vicars tin handed out .
It tasted not like nothing else I had had before ,



Just like Gods love in Purple robes and thorn ,
just like Gods love sweet in crimson snow .

How the birds at the calling of the day gather their nests ,
and fly away for food ,
yet   even these things don’t bother me .

Did you know the raven and the eagle circled Saxon battle fields ?
The ruddy noon day heat ,
and hover over the soldier with fallen shield .
Now with open wound
Peck ,
and tear and feed .
His sword yet ****** stays embedded in the mud ,
his helmet fallen encased my blood .

For the passing of the years a
  prayer from this mighty warrior to God so he might find rest .
in this battlefield of love .
A monk gives him water and bandages and cares for his head .
These cold stone walls lay waste against the enemy deadly spear ,.
For against the flesh he must conquer against Satan’s evil deeds .
This earth we cannot count for days of short or long ,
Our battle is everywhere ,
So to victory our cry ,
so long .