You rode into town a most glorious king

Riding on most humble of beasts,

We adorned the very street

With garments and garlands alike.

We fought to get a glimpse,

We pushed to touch your feet.

Now this, how did we get here?

We’ve now begged for your death

Begged a murderer free.

You’ve been whipped,

You’ve been beaten,

And most of all

You’ve been silent.

In 144 hours it changed

From a mob kissing your sandals,

To a mob spitting in your wounds.

We’re a fickle bunch

Most of us just wanting miracles,

Some believed your claims true

And some more afraid the same.

Can I just say thank you,

For ever thinking us worth it?

When I come knocking at your door

After breathing my last

Please don’t take me in,

Only to toss me back out

144 hours later.

– Vagabond Prophet