Three Days Here

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Eingestellt von: Joe Gri

Text:

© Joe Gri
Lean in Milord said Pilgrim to The Nazarene
Let's leave this tax collector's house
True, the servants bring us platters of figs and kamut,
Big Pomegranates, medjool dates and almonds every afternoon
And the tax collector makes us laugh
But don't forget, he is a tax collector
His wife is fun and flirty, his daughters tease
Such beautiful breasts, especially the youngest one

There are three altars in the Temple of Lonliness:
One for the Homesick,hopelessly longing for The Other
One for the Stranger in a world where once the Stranger ruled
The third serves both the Betrayer and the Betrayed, who must never meet again

Think Milord
Jail bait, summer love, trouble makers
Isn't it time we moved along toward Jerusalem
Pilgrim and Nazarene said nothing the rest of the day
The sun kicked up hot dust, blew across the courtyard
That night they drank and made up hymns
And drunk, they left without goodbyes
The dangerous walk to Jerusalem
The Nazarene leaned to Pilgrim along the lonely way
There was no choice, we had to go, we could not stay
The tax collector is no comedian
His wife would soon complain we ate all her daughter's figs
And the servants will start to grumble for gratuities