Song Of The Hours Songtext
von Duke Special

In the first hour of the day
Our Lord, he finally knows that
Like a murderer he′ll be judged
By that heathen Pontius Pilate
Pilate shall refuse the blame
And wash his hands in water
Then the innocent condemned
The innocent condemned
Sent off to the slaugher

In the third hour God's own son
Flails and scourges flayed him
On his head a thorny crown
That the soldiers had made him
Dressed in rags and mockery
Oh, they beat him and deride him
And the cross of his own death
The cross of his own death
He′ll drag along beside him


In the sixth hour, naked and cold
On a cross they staked him
As his blood spilled down
He prayed for his father to save him
One thief laughted and one thief wept
As he died beside them
While the sun withdrew its light
The sun withdrew its light
Hoping thus to hide him

Jesus screamed by hour nine,
Why does God forsake him?
In his mouth a bitter gall,
vinegar to slake him
Finally he gave up his ghost
The mountains disassembled
And the veils were rent in twain
The veils were rent in twain
And the whole world trembled


Dark and sudden the nighttime fell
The mocking crowds were scattered
Jesus' sides were torn by spears
The two thieves, their bones were shattered
Still the blood and water flows
And still their mocking laughter
Thus befell the Son of Man
Befell the Son of Man
And many people after
Thus befell the Son of Man
Befell the Son of Man
And many people after