The Way of the Cross
The First Station
Jesus is Condemned to Death
Let Pontius Pilate wash your blood away
For here is one more guilty of this doom,
A man that turned the Son of God to clay,
A sin that sent you to a borrowed tomb.
I am the writhing worm that dieth not,
A hollow shell all eaten out with lust,
Infecting all I touch with putrid rot,
And destined only to return to dust.
But you would lift this curse from off my head,
Would fill the chasm of my broken heart,
Would wash my sin away in water red,
And raise me to that paradise apart,
Where pain is turned to joy before your face,
And death to endless life in your embrace.
The Good The True and The Beautiful 
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