Simon of Cyrene

Today I've been part of a terrible scene,
My name is Simon I come from Cyrene.
Just now my mind is as black as my skin,
You'd never believe the trauma I'm in.

Up from my country, it is festival time,
Heard of this man, who had committed no crime.
Some priests said, 'He'd broken their laws'.
Cried for His death, saying, 'Theirs, a just cause'.

I stood in the crowd, as the spectacle passed by,
Some laughed and shouted, others did cry.
He stumbled and fell, with the weight of the tree.
A soldier on horseback, grabbed hold of me.

'You'll do, come on carry this wood,'
I realised to protest, would have done me no good.
Out of the city, we climbed up a hill,
The soldiers, the will of the priest did fulfil.

Having completed this journey of hate,
Just within earshot, I shiver and wait.
The centurions made a statement quite odd,
'Surely this man, is the righteous Son of God.'