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The room grew still
As she made her way to Jesus
She stumbles through the tears that made her blind
She felt such pain
Some spoke in anger
Heard folks whisper
There’s no place here for her kind
Still on she came
Through the shame that flushed her face
Until at last, she knelt before his feet
And though she spoke no words
Everything she said was heard
As she poured her love for the Master
From her box of alabaster

[Refrain]

And I’ve come to pour
My praise on Him
Like oil from Mary’s alabaster box
Don’t be angry if I wash his feet with my tears
And I dry them with my hair
You weren’t there the night He found me
You did not feel what I felt
When he wrapped his love all around me and
You don’t know the cost of the oil
In my alabaster box

I can’t forget the way life used to be
I was a prisoner to the sin that had me bound
And I spent my days 
Poured my life without measure
Into a little treasure box
I’d thought I’d found
Until the day when Jesus came to me
And healed my soul
With the wonder of His touch
So now I’m giving back to Him
All the praise He’s worthy of
I’ve been forgiven 
And that’s why
I love Him so much

[Refrain]

And I’ve come to pour
My praise on Him
Like oil from Mary’s alabaster box
Don’t be angry if I wash his feet with my tears
And dry them with my hair (my hair)
You weren’t there the night Jesus found me
You did not feel what I felt 
When He wrapped his loving arms around me and
You don’t know the cost of the oil
Oh, you don’t know the cost of my praise
You don’t know the cost of the oil
In my alabaster box

  1. chocofelice posted this

I am easily immersed in my own world and has a high self-amusing capacity. I love random walks, getting lost or taking the wrong bus just to see things yet to be discovered. I’ve been living in this tiny little red dot for 7 years and yet always find things around me to be utterly interesting. Well, maybe what’s bigger out there kinda scares me that way, too many things to be appreciated can be quite overwhelming somehow. I’m living a life of simple pleasures, of literature worth re-reading, of luscious dark chocolates, of quivering major seventh chord, of deep alarm-less sleep, of fresh quirkiness and best, of unrestrained shared laughs. But, despite the simplicity I might present, I’m just as complex and paradoxical as any human being out there. This blog is an insight of my life, pure honesty, for I don’t write what I don’t feel deep down. Here comes the gate of my reverie.)