Whenever I see a statue of you, crucified
in a city square
or hung on a mountain at the end of the earth
day or night
indifferent to the clouds as they pass
over your eternal exile
I can’t help but say:
Come back, come back with me
to Jerusalem….
I know your heart:
the hills they’re shoveling away
And I know that the thieves
are still working as judges
and the false witnesses
are still clothed as priests
and everything is lacking
but injustice
You should still come back with me:
We’re your family, after all
and I, like you, am cut from stone
Your statue on the mountain
is my torment
and my one fear
is that you cannot hear me
And as I confide in you
from my hotel room at the mountain’s foot
you vanish beyond the clouds
Yesterday I did not sleep
I stared at a star beyond the clouds
How should I say goodbye
land of sambas and poverty?
How can I leave Cristo
alone on his mountain?
Yesterday I did not sleep
and after today I do not think
I’ll ever sleep again
EN 
MK