His hands are tied behind his back.
His body bruised and torn,
He walks amidst the mocking crowd,
Facing their violent scorn.
"Hold this not to their charge,"
"Let your glory be revealed in my life this day."
Slapped down by the soldiers,
He falls to rocky ground,
Blood pours from his cheek,
As he is stepped on by the crowd.
"Stop!" yells the soldier,
Who drags him to his feet,
"We don't burn dead men,"
"We let the ravens have them for meat."
"This one prays to a false god."
"Give him one last chance to deny.''
"I won't," said the disciple.
"Then I'll throw you to their cries."
With that he shoved him to the crowd.
The disciple at their mercy,
He was pounded on by fist a foot,
For this torture he was not worthy.
Watch as the crowd pummels him,
Till at last he cannot stand,
The soldiers drag his half-breathing body to the stake,
To face his final end.
As he is painfully tied to pole.
As the fire begins to kindle,
He preaches one last sermon to the crowd,
But it is not one on which he dwindles.
After a minute of his words,
He is stoned in the mouth.
Which dislocated his jaw,
And causes the blood to gush out.
Now watch his eyes as they look at Heaven.
Watch him pray for the crowd even harder.
Watch as the flames consume his body,
And watch the disciple become the martyr.