Insecure

There seems so little point in killing one Whose only crime is to heal But when he calls you a hypocrite - a whitewashed tomb And deep inside you feel That wrong or right, his power is more than yours You've got to serve him or kill him Choose him or lose him. Fumbled and mismanaged, no one wants To actually do the deed Fob him off on Pilate, or Herod; they try not to get involved But finally in pressure it's agreed To give him up, although for what we don't quite know Quickly bundle him on a cross And see if he'll die. That'll stop it all then, the whole thing will go A nine - days wonder, blow itself out Dead men tell no tales and do not pose a threat Or introduce a doubt In an empty form that one time made you feel secure Preserve your dignity Lose your integrity It didn't stop it all though did it? The ripples of his life still spread People still believe and live as if his paradoxes work And he isn't really dead And he still stirs up something in this day Which try as you will You can't kill.