Old Tree

 a song of the cross

Old tree standing on the hill
blood soaked roots that rise to kill
there hangs the fruit of man’s pain
on the old tree sanding on the hill

With this tree I will build a door
to a house with healing in its floor
there remain the broken now made whole
and no latch shall be fit to this door

I am the ax that’ll fell this tree
and all of the earth will pass over me
yet I’ll rise again to open the door
made of the old tree on the hill

Victory to the vulnerable, victory to the saints
step on the healing dance in his grace
for the torture had become our gate
and the bloody roots a sign post to the way