by Terrence Aym

Created on: November 05, 2009

Let Him

He's mad you know.
Leading a revolution in His mind.
Some say a man ahead of His time,
But really there's no reason or rhyme.

He may die, Centurion, shall we stop Him?
Should we intercede?
Should we stop His pell-mell race,
Towards calamity through deed?

No let Him go.
Let Him!
Let Him walk free.
If it's death that He seeks,
It's His way to be.

He's heading for a cliff,

With awkward, grimacing smiles.
A crazy theological rift,
Adopting artificial styles.

He could die, Centurion, shan't we stop Him?
Shouldn't we intercede?
Should we not stop His pell-mell race,
Towards calamity through need?

No let Him race on.
Let Him!
Let Him run free.
If it's the end that He seeks,
It's His spirituality.

He's a man out of time,
His own engine of destruction,
Searching for Nirvanas,
Exploring the seasons of hell,
Just that and no other,
So wish Him well.
Wish Him well.

We cannot stop Him.
Nor warn Him of his doom,
Nor tell Him there's more than,
His monotonic tune.

Yet He will die, Centurion, we must stop Him!
It's our duty to intercede.
We cannot allow this pell-mell race.
Won't He listen and take heed?

No let Him.
Let Him!
Let Him run free.
If it's death that He seeks,
Then it's His destiny.

They are destroyers of worlds,
See them choke off eternity.
He is a man of words,
A man yearning to be free!

He gives much, much more,
Than He ever can take.
Like the briefest of meteors,
In heaven's wide starry gate,
His passion is a message,
That will capture all who hear,
And His message is pure love,
For everything we hold dear.

So my friend, let Him,
Let Him pass to the beyond.
Although His message is strong,
His body's weak and frail.
Let Him save the hearts of all.
Let His spirit set Rome free,
Let Him ascend the bloody trail,
Of Mount Calvary . . .

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