Sky is purple, then turns black,

Sky pours rain down on His back.

Thunder rolls, steals their breath,

On cold, sad Friday, Jesus' death

Behold the man upon the cross,

His life is taken, but not lost.

For my pardon, this man paid,

Then in the tomb His life was laid.

When we thought that He had lied,

on cold, sad Friday, Jesus died.

But, no, our story is not done,

'cause on that morning our God won.

Jesus is risen, now to reign

And take our mourning, death and pain.