The leading priests said, "He must die, to save all Israel.
He plays at Christ; he knows how well the saviour act will sell.
These foolish people crave to crown this Galilean King!
He'll lead a rebels' rabble out to challenge Rome, and bring
Her mighty vengeance on our land: Sanhedrin will not stand.
Or, if by might or magic, he should win, our reign's still done:
Where's room for our sagacity alongside 'God's own son'?
He scorns our grave respectfulness and ancient tasselled ways
For sentimental women's prattle, fools' and lepers' praise.
He'd make that Galilean crew his yokel Council too."
"One man must die to save us, that is clear," the High Priest said,
"For God's own precious kingdom's sake - his blood must be shed."
And Pontius Pilate said, "Then have your way!
This man must die today, to save my face,
Or else the mob will riot - I'll be blamed,
And summoned back to Caesar in disgrace.
This pestilential race I govern here
Rules over me, by passion and by pride
So take him! Crucify him! Just remember
It's not the fault of Pilate this man died."