One.
You mock me, shame me, spit on me;
You deny my humanity and curse me.
You cannot see past my dark hue.
Two.
You mock Him who made me
By burning that cross on my lawn.
You do not see to His heart.
Three.
You mock the law, your job,
By coming secretly in the night.
Yet the bullets awake the world,
And the flames evince your impure cones.
Four.
You mock life and you hang me;
My neck is in a tree,
Snapped. But my glazed eyes
Observe your emptiness.
I am sorry.

The funny thing is
My father was white like you,
Pale as this paper,
But he had love and the courage to live it.

The funny thing is
That I forgive you,
For Jesus' blood
Covered my own mocking sins;
The least I can do is reciprocate that.

The funny thing is
Your mockery is shallow;
Though sword-like now,
It will fade in the coming years
and you will know it.

One,
Two,
Three,
Four.

Your sins
are
no
more
in Jesus.

Even the mockery of life, human like yours,
Can be forgiven,
Completely,
For we all mocked Him, the Sovereign God.
But He mercifully showed love.

One, two, three, four.
That cross before my door
Cries out to you:
Despite your mockery
He loves.