They beat Him, whipped Him,
blood drying in His hair,
mocked Him, struck Him,
oh God it isn't fair.

Dragged Him through
underneath that cross,
and they all didn't know,
that it was their loss.

Head held high,
jeered at, spit on.
Through all the abuse,
our Saviour stayed strong.

The drove those nails
inside His wrists,
I know t'was God's will,
but still I wish

That Jesus Christ
didn't have to die
for our sins, all our sins,
and all of our wretched lies.