Lord! You were behind the windows
human and sad in the evening;
and she so she mourned your funerals
that woman!
Her eyes were holy thursday,
two black grains of bitter light!
With hard drops of blood and with a sob
she nailed your cross!
Heathen woman! Since you left,
Lord, she hasn’t ever gone to the Jordan,
in red waters she undresses to the skin,
and to the vile Jew she sells bread!
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