"Lord, Remember Me"

You’ve walked the outer edges where the streetlamps start to fade,
Where every mistake is counted and the verdict’s already made.
You’ve stood inside the courtroom of a world that doesn’t care,
With people pointing fingers who were never even there.
You looked at Sunday mornings through a pane of stained-glass pride,
And thought, "Those sheltered people don’t know what it’s like outside—
They’ve never felt the cold steel when the system turns its back,
They’ve never had to rebuild when the whole sky turns to black."

So nobody ever told you who the Carpenter really was—
That He didn’t come for insiders who applauded their own laws.
They came for Him at midnight with a paid-off, crooked lie,
Dragged Him through a rigged tribunal and condemned the King to die.
And when they nailed His hands of grace up on that rugged tree,
He wasn't flanked by choir robes or men of high degree—
He hung between two outlaws at the edge of everything,
So the furthest soul from temple gates could sit beside the King.

Maybe you’ve been running till your lungs have nothing left,
Caught up in the wreckage of the anger and the theft.
Maybe all your bridges burned, the gavel’s about to fall,
And every voice around you says you’re past the final call.
Listen to the timber creak upon that dark hillside:
One man cursed the Savior’s name; the other turned and cried.
He had no time to clean his past, no silver in his hand,
No fancy church vocabulary to make God understand.

Caught between his final breath and all eternity,
He looked into the eyes of Love and whispered: "Lord, remember me."
He didn't ask for status, and he didn't plead his case—
He just threw his broken record on the mercy of His grace.
And Jesus didn’t lecture him or ask where he had been;
The bleeding King of Glory stopped and pulled the outcast in:
"Verily I say to you—before this sun goes down,
Today you’ll walk in Paradise and wear a brother’s crown."

So if you’re in the trenches now, or standing on the line,
Stop waiting till you’re spotless for the Light of God to shine.
No grave is too deep for Him, no cell can lock Him out,
One honest cry from where you stand will break the heaviest doubt.
Drop the weight you’ve carried long—His blood has paid the fee.
Look up toward the Middle Cross and say: "Lord, remember me."