The lash cuts deep
Deep inside my skin
They laugh at me
Because the torture just begins

But I endure it grim-faced
Not uttering a word
Because even though I love them
Different is all they heard

The taste of death is thick on their tongues
The though of blood on their minds
They’ve turned from me while leaving
All I’ve done for them behind

As I drag the splintery wood
Up to the top of the hill
The pain and wood cuts into me
But I push forward, by will

A ringlet of thorns
It now encircles my head
The sharp points are unmerciful
I know I soon will be dead

They lay me on the cross of wood
Then pull out long, dull nails
They hammer them to my hands and feet
As I choke back screams and wails

They stare and laugh and spit on me
As I slowly die
The saliva mixes with my streaming blood
And I look at the faces, silently saying goodbye

Besides the mocking
The laughs and jeers
There are a handful of people
With eyes full of tears

I wish to reach out to them
To say I soon will return
But I dare not tell them that
Before others that would rather me burn

So I look out over my people
As I hang by this cross on a hill
I know they hate me, with passion even
But I love them still