Death




Death

Death wants to swallow me up 
Take me back 
 I refuse to go

Death is not a place for the living 
The grave is not for me

I have a race to run 
I will condition myself 
To run strong 
Run far

I will not get short winded
I focus on the prize

Oh that I would not go down 
To the grave once more

It is not a place for the 
living
breathing
victorious saints

Someone I loved 
Has left this world
They finished their race
And collected their prize

So I ask

O death, where is your victory? 
O death, where is your sting?

  1 Corinthians 15:55

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