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The Young Man

ALL on a Friday evening as the sun went down

The body of a man who wore a thorn made crown

Was carried to a graveyard in the fading light

And laid with deep affection in a garden

Up on the hill the shadow of his gallows fell

And faded as the sun descended lower still

The ground was worn and bare where many feet had trod

To watch the execution of the young manAnd what of me, so distant from that far, gone, place?

Still the wonder of that moment crosses time and space

With mystery and majesty none can explain

For it draws me to the story of the young man.

The next day being Sabbath, was a day of rest

And one of some reflection for the young man's friends

No longer messianic zeal consumed their hearts

Just sorrow for the killing of the young man

Maybe some type of guitar sound added

And I suppose some tears were shed 'til sleep came last

Then rising early morning once the Sabbath passed

A woman made her way to find the garden tomb

To leave her oil and flowers for the young man

Now history tells of heavy stone to bar the way

Was fixed by many soldiers on the open grave

For when she found it rolled aside and emptied tomb

She grieved the stolen body of the young man

A gardener called her by her name as she kneeled down

And asked her why she searched about the burial ground

And wiping bitter tears away with the dawns first light

She saw the risen glory of the young man.

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