Yet another skeleton,
yet another bag of grime
emptying slowly its bowels
like a kiwi spills out lime.

No famous cross for this one,
the roman men were lazy that day,
dirt served as the mighty altar,
blood, spewed onto the holy hay.

Meters from this,
the savior died
in peace he was tortured
and left.
But our fellow liar here was tied
and couldn't repent from theft.

Two men were lucky
one was saved,
all the witness stood amazed:
As from the limb dripped golden blood
that shone with peiercing rays.

The biblical scene had happened;
the book could be printed out.
But one thing had been forgotten
one thing was never shout.

A man had tried to reach the cross
and ask the savior for help,
but instead his throat was slit and cut
he was not fast enough.

That hot night as the wind was blowing
a banquet was held but with toast,
bread was divided wine kept flowing :
though was cristian meat on roast.

Surely someone was there to look
upon the poor man's soul,
hopefully enough some early god
must have played that kind of role.

Forgotten relics, that man was there,
he did see more than mary herself,
kept away by tears,
blinded by her hair,
she did not see god's heir.

His bones were given to the dogs,
his face to be eaten away by pigs.
He was never honored, is it wrong ?
God’s abandoned kid.