In a spontaneous turn of events
I find the meaning of my own birth.
It is shown to me clearly: what love is.
And that I am the harbinger of faith.

My hands were made to hold nails,
Blood was given to me to taste intoxicating.
The home built for me was the crucifix,
I was made for the sole act of sacrificing.

I accept that I am God’s favourite lamb.
The sounds echoing through my cords, then my throat
Sound so cute and perhaps a bit dumb.
It is the last bit of air in a scapegoat.

Oh, but tell me, just tell me why?
Why must I bear so much pain?
Does it satisfy you to look at me in wry?
Why must I be your sacred fane?

Perhaps it is clear that there is no answer
And that there never will be one.
I accept the fool I am, a mere dancer,
Just to satisfy the very needs of the One.

Endless times I will give my body, my soul.
Until no more there is something to call “I.”
Hope the eyes that are blind see your drool,
And the ears that are deaf hear your lie.

Your kingdom shall one day fall,
Headless sheep may run over your body.
Sacrifices you find so beloved may go dull,
And I, your favourite, shall stand proud as Mahdi.