Glass

The sleeping Jesus was clothed in art
With giant arms, and a giant heart
Rolled down the hill, a ball of snow
When the weather went cold and the mourning craved hope

The preaching Jesus, with a carpet bag
A microphone, and a book of glass
Filled up with sawdust and painted black
To placate the suffering and the hope that they lack

Ooh, put your questions in your pockets, drop your coins
And this baby boy will save you
Ooh, be guided by the preaching arson's voice
And this baby boy will save you

The weeping Jesus carries his shame
Before the shields of the barricade
Nailed up by his exclusive pain
His bones wrung of hope only to entertain

The speaking Jesus patrols the night
Glorified in the polluted light
Shielding the stars in the loose lipped sky
From the weeping widows with no hope in their eyes

Ooh, put your questions in your pockets, drop your coins
And this baby boy will save you
Ooh, be guided by the preaching arson's voice
And this baby boy will save you

The saving Jesus, he clasps the hand
Of every blind and starving man
And says your thirst is for his holy land
And douses in hope those who fill his demands

The dying Jesus, for his good name
Many men would greet the same fate
One criminal, God's breath on the earth
Pulled about by his strings to give hope to the world