They Tend To Die (Paramaecium)

Our Lord's enemies, they found Him in Gethsemane They took God's only Son from the olive grove And I decry, that which is breathing tends to die Oh my Lord, his last hours of sorrow I implore my hope for tomorrow Our Lord's enemies, they mocked Him as they bowed their knees They put God's only Son in a crown of thorns And I decry, that which is breathing tends to die Oh my Lord, I hope I can find you I deplore the way that they bind you Our Lord's enemies, they killed Him on a torture tree They sent God's only Son to a lowly grave And I decry, that which is breathing tends to die