[Introduction] Herod, Tetrarch of Judea, writes to Pilate, Governor of Judea, to evoke the tensions and power facing Christ. Verse 1 Beneath the relentless sun of our borders, The crowds murmur and the people grow restless. I, Herod, Tetrarch on a shaken throne, See our authority waver and drone. A man in white crosses our provinces, Making the hearts of all princes tremble and wince. Chorus Oh Pilate, write history upon the sand, Facing this man who slips through our hand. Between our palaces and his new kingdom, Power falters at the slightest phantom. Judges and kings in the shadows trembling, We fear the brilliance of his blood assembling. Verse 2 In your palace of marble and of chill, Do you hear the echo of this rumor still? He speaks of a kingdom beyond the skies, A veiled mystery that blinds our eyes. They say he heals, he raises the dead, And silently defies the power we tread. Chorus Oh Pilate, write history upon the sand, Facing this man who slips through our hand. Between our palaces and his new kingdom, Power falters at the slightest phantom. Judges and kings in the shadows trembling, We fear the brilliance of his blood assembling. Verse 3 I send this to you by this sealed parchment, Before the tumult becomes permanent. Governor, beware of this wandering prophet, For his silence is a sharp sword, profit or loss of it. Dispose of him according to your Roman law, So that at last this vain hatred may withdraw. Outro The seal is broken on the table of stone. Judea holds its breath, praying alone.
