Oh, silent church, your walls now weep,
A sanctuary turned to sorrow deep,
Seventy souls, bound and still,
Their voices hushed on a blood-stained hill.

Hands that prayed, now tied in chains,
Hearts that sang, now stilled by pain,
The blade descended, cruel and cold,
A tale of terror, brutally told.

Where candles flickered, shadows reign,
Where hymns once rose, now cries remain,
The faithful fell, their faith unshaken,
By ruthless hands, their lives were taken.

Oh, heavens mourn, oh, earth lament,
For innocence so violently spent,
Their blood a witness, their spirits soar,
Beyond the reach of hate’s cruel roar.

Why does the dawn not break this night?
Why fades the hope, the guiding light?
Seventy names, etched in grace,
Lost to the world, yet they find their place.

We grieve, we bow, beneath this woe,
A river of tears begins to flow,
For those who knelt, for those who died,
In a sacred space where love once thrived.

Oh, God of mercy, hear our plea,
Bind up the broken, set the captives free,
For seventy saints, now crowned above,
We mourn their loss, we lift their love.