With strips of linen I wrap my past.
Pride is mine; I carry this death.
Deep within I entomb my lust.
Sorrow I hold to my chest.
Bitterness, I will not let you go.
Nor the disappointment I wish to know.
Oh death, here is your victory.
Oh death, here is your sting.
These strips of linen that wrap my past,
are death that forever last.
But in the morning darkness there is hope,
no understanding, but belief.
These same strips now lay without form,
on this resurrection morn.
That which testified to death,
now testifies to breath.
