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Sleeping Cranes
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1
The sleeping Jesus was clothed in art
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With giant arms, and a giant heart
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Rolled down the hill, a ball of snow
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When the weather went cold and the mourning craved hope
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The preaching Jesus, with a carpet bag
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A microphone, and a book of glass
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Filled up with sawdust and painted black
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To placate the suffering and the hope that they lack
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Ooh, put your questions in your pockets, drop your coins
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And this baby boy will save you
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Ooh, be guided by the preaching arson's voice
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And this baby boy will save you
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The weeping Jesus carries his shame
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Before the shields of the barricade
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Nailed up by his exclusive pain
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His bones wrung of hope only to entertain
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The speaking Jesus patrols the night
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Glorified in the polluted light
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Shielding the stars in the loose lipped sky
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From the weeping widows with no hope in their eyes
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Ooh, put your questions in your pockets, drop your coins
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And this baby boy will save you
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Ooh, be guided by the preaching arson's voice
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And this baby boy will save you
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The saving Jesus, he clasps the hand
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Of every blind and starving man
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And says your thirst is for his holy land
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And douses in hope those who fill his demands
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The dying Jesus, for his good name
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Many men would greet the same fate
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One criminal, God's breath on the earth
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Pulled about by his strings to give hope to the world
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