Astarte here comes your first Easter sacrifice
Dragging a crucifix across the old Market Square
Salvation Army band beating a military drum
Through the wet April morning, but nobody cares
A thin young man with long blond hair
White shirt hanging loosely down
Carries the old wooden crucifix
As working-class people walk around
Not taking any notice, not feeling any pain
Just shopping for groceries in the rain
Astarte here comes your second Easter sacrifice
With a cross dragged along by the Festival Hall
A folk Rock Band plays Irish reels
As tourists and culture vultures call
There is no Christ here that I can see
He is obscured by the smiling, dancing crowd
Who would pick up his cross for him here?
The music played is very loud
The actors are wearing proper Roman tunics
The drama is free but the coffee is dear
Astarte I know what’s been lost and what’s been fixed
You can’t fool me with your game
And if your thousand Christ’s and their crosses
Entertain a lost world now, then who’s to blame?
