Good man, why do you cradle your aching head? The day splits open, and the roses smell of dread. You only need to walk the garden and be free— all men are good, even you, even you who sentence me. The kingdom of the truth will come, all earthly power is violence done. And something in you, sick and slow, already knows where this must go. Cowardice— the oldest, the worst of all the sins! The weight you carry where the soul begins! You saw the truth and washed your hands, you let the desert swallow what you understand— cowardice, cowardice, the most terrible of all! You whisper: say you never said those words, just lie to me, and you will not be heard. I'll set you free, just take the truth away— but I can't, hegemon. The truth is all I say. The water cools your burning hands, but it will never wash the sand. You send me out into the sun— the crowd is screaming, it is done. Cowardice— the oldest, the worst of all the sins! The weight you carry where the soul begins! You signed the name, you turned away, you'll dream of me for two thousand years and a day— cowardice, cowardice, the most terrible of all! Twelve thousand moons over one Passover. The dog, the chair, the moonlit road that's never over. You sit and wait where the cold light pools, condemned to the immortality of fools. Free me. Free me. Let me walk that road with him. Tell me there was never an execution— tell me, tell me I am clean. Cowardice— forgive the oldest, worst of all the sins! the weight falls off where the mercy begins! We climb the moonbeam, side by side— the truth you killed, the man you tried to hide— cowardice… cowardice… forgiven after all. All men are good. Even you. Even you.
