Sickness, suffering a medication nation.
Such misery and death befalls creation.
Pills and elixirs, shots and tests.
Seeking yet finding no cures or rest.
Poverty stricken can’t afford the physicians.
Is there something we’re all missing?
The balm in Gilead is still here.
Master healer calls all to come near.
He has the medicine, He is the cure.
His motives not money, His healing is sure.
He works on our bodies from head to toe.
When he operates our sickness is no more.
His hand is steady. His method is precise.
He speaks the words, and the Father will suffice.
The Father, the Spirit, the Lord in control.
Cuts out the poisons residing in our souls.
Trust the prescriptions given by the maker.
His good medicine will cure and not fake you.
No trial, guinea pig, or investigation needed.
Whatever the disease the Lord can treat it.
No thousand years to find the right mix.
He has the power, the permanent fix.
Come to the physician, believe that He can.
Stop being a sick, crippled, medicated land.