They say that he was born in lonely manger stable
They say that he was, then, alone and barely able
To guide his own young cries; to move or to be still
Let alone greater thoughts of curing the world's ills.

And then they say he grew; and worked as carpenter
In daddy's lonely shop, somewhere in Nazareth.
They say that, at 13, he ran away from home
To be found teaching life 'neath Jerusalem's dome.

They say he loved the world so much, he chose to die
Rather than see our kind wasting away our lives
They say he tried so hard to show us life from death
But that it was too much even for him, I guess.

They say he loved but one, the Mary Magdalene
They say they had a daughter and Sarah was her name
They say that him and Mary were always side by side
Until the fateful day when he had, sadly, died.

They say that, three days thence, he then came back to life
One quiet morn, alone, and first seen by his wife;
Gethsemane's great pain had long since been forgot
As they walked through the mist, all tears turned to nought.

They say so much, I know not what I am to believe
But, if he is out there, I'd like to meet him, please.
I'd like his hand to shake, and gently say hello,
If shaking hands does not still hurt his body so.