He may look just like Jesus Christ and behave like John the Baptist
On Locust and Wild Honey feed, then shake his fist at Heaven and Blast it.
He may look quite the Holy Man, with the Holy Spirit strong and flowing
But he’s a Sinner and a Saint, while the fires of Hell, for him are glowing
Some called him once a Man of God and in Robes he cut a dashing figure
But he shunned the water for his wine, blessed them all and said go figure
Eve became a Serpent and tempted him with her carefully tended nest
So he took her in his pulpit and gave her the sermon of the Blessed
One night she came down from Heaven, a Devils Angel in disguise
But she was no Holy Mother, and for her he would not Baptise
She told to him a story, which at once did melt his heart
And while God from Heaven kept calling, he took Old Satans part
He now was lost to Heaven, while he was grounded here on Earth
His soul was sold in one deep hole, somewhere near to Perth
He then forsook the Holy Book, and the Communion bread and water
He gave God the Heave,got up to leave,and took up with Old Nicks daughter
Now I’d love to say that in this tale, they lived happily ever after
But this I can’t and this I wont, for it was bound for sheer disaster
For in the tale untold there was one of old, who would not let them be
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and she would not let him go free
Such Cursed Lies he would then Despise, as he was flayed and he was Beaten
They placed him on a Beggars Cross, and set about him for a season
Raking nails placed his Soul for Sale, and he was Dead before He’d Risen
When something cried and deep inside him died,his heart shackled and Imprisoned
They left him on that stony ground, a lamb, the victim of a slaughter
His Soul was encased inside a Stone, victim of the Harpies daughters
3 years went by and you could hear his cries, begging for forgiveness
Till Christmas came and a Star was born, and the Earth gave up its witness
In that Shining moment he was freed, and prayed on his knees to heaven
And God looked down and said come home my Son, where the bread is leavened
Before a mirror he then stood, and beheld his visage torn and tattered
But from his eyes the Light now shone, and the past no longer mattered
Rod Macfarlane
