On a Friday evening as the sun went down The body of a man who wore a thorn made crown Was carried to a graveyard in the fading light And laid with deep affection in a garden Up on the hill the shadow of his gallows fell And faded as the sun descended lower still The ground was worn and bare where many feet had trod To watch the execution of the young man And what of me, so distant from that far, gone, place Still the wonder of that moment crosses time and space With mystery and majesty none can explain For it draws me to the story of the young man The next day being Sabbath, was a day of rest And one of some reflection for the young man's friends No longer messianic zeal consumed their hearts Just sorrow for the k**ing of the young man Maybe some type of guitar sound added And I suppose some tears were shed ‘til sleep came last Then rising early morning once the Sabbath pa**ed A woman made her way to find the garden tomb To leave her oil and flowers for the young man Now history tells of heavy stone to bar the way Was fixed by many soldiers on the open grave For when she found it rolled aside and emptied tomb She grieved the stolen body of the young man A gardener called her by her name as she kneeled down And asked her why she searched about the burial ground And wiping bitter tears away with the dawns first light She saw the risen glory of the young man