It was midnight in the garden of good and evil,
And evil prevailed.
As I was sleeping soundly, swaddled in down and cotton,
He was sweating blood.
As I awoke to morning coffee and a rerun of Oprah,
He was unjustly accused and flogged.
As I rode the subway, trying to avoid the snotty, sniffly guy beside me,
He shouldered a heavy beam down dusty streets, now mixed with blood.
As I sit in my temperature controlled office, surfing the web,
He hung there.
All day I will draft contracts and surf the web and worry about pleasing the bosses,
And all day he will hang there in agony.
Why should I gain from his reward?