A dreary gray fills the sky with a sombre mood
Like ash sprawling in the air in a manner of crude
A coronation begins, for the foul, not good
Mockery fills the room as a man sits in ****

His skin filled with fresh bruises and blisters alike;
His eyes painted with tremor, etched within his psyche
Upon his head sat, a diadem of sharp pike
Its needles slithering through his forehead in hike,

Puncturing his once soft skin; warm blood trickles down
Escorting his pains were the digging of the crown
It continues, wrapping his head like a long gown
For a king, adorned with a frown: a thorny crown.

Among the men, they bring out a coat of blood anew
Draped on shoulders, blood meets blood; the searing pain grew
A contempt shroud lingers, a call begins to brew
"Hail the King!" they chant, "Hail Jesus, the King of all  Jew!"