Impatient soldiers seek out volunteers
        to take up the cross out of pity,
    until a predictable target appears -
        a stranger from some other city.

    Simon steps over and lifts up the wood,
        impelled by a clear resolution
    to do this longsuffering person some good
        by aiding his swift execution.

    Mary, unbalanced by all of this madness,
            was longing to find and enfold him;
    the man looked towards her, and - knowing her sadness -
            allowed her to silently hold him.

    Heavy, she battled to set her child free
            to finish what she had begun, 
    but all that the gathering people could see
            was someone embracing her son.

    Stones and old rubble lie scattered around -
            the man gets his foot stuck and slips.
    Collapsing, he tumbles face-first to the ground;
            there's blood on his neck and his lips. 

    Funny, this notion so clear and intact
            of being unspeakably poor
    expressed in the simple unbearable fact
            of not standing up anymore.

    Heavy with sadness, and over his shoulder
            two pieces of untreated wood:
    thus burdened, the young man looked suddenly older
            as - friendless, forgotten - he stood.

    Closing his eyes to the sharpness that tore him
            he saw only darkness; but then,
    half-sensing that something serene lay before him,
            the man let them open again. 

    Standing alone at the front of the court
            condemned to a criminal's death,
    it looked as if some sharp and saddening thought
            had made the young man hold his breath.

    Restless, the people surged forward to meet him
            and, sounding a curious cry, 
    began to abuse him, despise him, mistreat him,
            abandon him - not knowing why.