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The Immortal Nazarene
He refused the wine;
he stood the pain;
Nothing would stand in his way,
he was death itself.
Ready to face what he was,
all the pain, all the hate
Blood running down his face,
curses spat into his ear,
But still not phased,
where other men might fear
Staying straight,
ready to meet his fate
A man that could not be
succumbed
reliquishing himself
to the violence
he allows his mind
to fade into the darkness
Only to wake up
and walk of the tomb
reborn; made new,
having overcome the odds
he spreads the good news
