Born in a fable, someone's son, a charismatic leader
Was impaled to a gibbet of olive wood, or maybe cedar
Violated, naked, excruciating death throes shudders
Left to rot with kith and kin and Judean brothers
Nails and ropes, broken legs, tortured, scourged
From the mists of myths tales are told, scribed and merged
Bloody beads upon a lolling head, a crown of thorns
An oppressive empire suppressing freewill and raising storms
From eternally disputed lands and a realm of authoritarian ways
A seed was planted for the nativity and the passion plays
Post the ancient prose of the world of Moses, Noah, Cain and Abel
A new testament created a heroic saviour, born in a fable
Conjecture aspires to an incomparable crucifixion upon a Latin cross
And history tells of two thousand years revered, at a calamitous cost
For all those heretic souls of the Inquisitions, that no one mourns
And for the holy wars and sectarian divisions, we bear a crown of thorns
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