Was in chapter seventeen
that they told us of his loss;
Of all his old transgressions
and the sacrificial cost;
Of the wives that had left him
in the middle of the night
When love was tossed out the door
without putting up a fight.
They told them of his passing
through the hands that would not save,
And stuck his fading picture
on the cross that marked his grave.
The towns folk stood in silence,
not believing that they're free,
Each had hoped to be the one
that had strung him to the tree.
Rains were falling long and hard
in the midst of winter's chill,
Yet every man and dog
made that long march up the hill.
No one had come for mourning
or the words the priest had said,
Ev'ry single one had come
just to make sure he was dead!