iona

"A blush of red lies at your throat Adorns the drabness of your coat. In song you stand at heavens door In warbled songs that you implore How can a hardened heart remain Without a falling tear to claim..."

"Up on a hill called Golgotha They nailed him to a tree, And there my good Lord took my sins And there he died for me. What scribbling words are good enough? For all he sacrificed? No thank you ever w..."