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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