When hearts are black, the skies are grey
we walk about them everyday.
These people talk their hearts are cold,
they'll never see those streets of gold.
Casting crowns upon the heads,
of the worried, sick or dead.
Those people walk, wide strides, big steps,
how will they feel when taking those last reps?
Will they care they never knew, the King of Kings,
the King of Jews?
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