It was a close call.
I thought I was a goner.
I’d been sentenced to death,
and there was a cross with my name on it.
The Romans are brutal, and there is no mercy,
not for someone like me.
I was arrested a week before the festival.
I led my men, we planned and plotted,
waiting for the right time, the right opportunity.
Everyone is sick of this occupation,
this bowing and scraping, yes sir and no sir,
keeping our mouths shut and our eyes down.
Carrying centurions’ burdens like donkeys,