Snake Tongue Whip

Psalm one twenty-nine. A Song for Ascending.
"Greatly have they afflicted me from my youth."
Two voices been talking since the garden.
Learn to tell them apart.

Let Israel now say—
They been on me since my youth!
Let Israel now say—
But they never broke through!
The plowers plowed upon my back—
And they made the furrows long!
But the Lord is righteous—
Cut the cords, and the plow is gone!

Rewind to the garden, the river and the root,
before the first harvest, the hiss in the fruit,
a voice in the branches as slick as a lie,
said it soft to the woman with a gleam in his eye:
"Did God really say?"
And the world fell that day and the image decayed and the glory went gray and we all went astray
and the cherubim stayed at the gate with the blade, but before they were exiled the Lord made a vow,
spoke a word to the serpent that's echoing now:
"Her Seed will crush your head, and you will bruise his heel."
So the war got real and the snake's seed kneeled on the neck of the field, every age, every reel:
Cain with a rock and the blood in the soil, Pharaoh with the whip and the bricks and the toil,
Philistine, Assyrian, Babylon's spoil, every empire plotting, thorns firin' every pot on the boil,
greatly afflicted from the days of our youth, but they never prevailed, and that's the truth.

Then the Seed showed up in a trough in Bethlehem, and the serpent sent Herod with a sword after him;
out of Egypt God called him, the youth that was hunted, grew up in a carpenter's shop, and the world didn't want it.
Forty days in the desert with no bread in his belly, and the snake slid up with the same old melody:
"If you are the Son of God, tell these stones to become bread."
Same hiss, same twist, same doubt that he spread, same "did God really," same poison, same thread,
but the Seed didn't flinch, didn't bite, didn't break, answered every whisper with the Word, not the snake:
"It is written: Man shall not live by bread alone."
Same voice in your ear, so you gotta know the tone: one says "Did God say?", one says "It is written,"
one's a lie with a smile and a bite that's hidden, one's the Word never bent, never bought, never bidden.
Learn the voice, learn the voice, 'cause the war ain't finished.

Now the plowers in Pilate's yard tied him to the post, flagrum full of bone and the cohort cracking jokes,
furrows on his back made long, row by row: "I gave my back to the smite-ers." Isaiah told us so.
Crown of thorns, purple robe, spit on his face, dragged up to Golgotha, nailed into place,
and the crowd at the cross, can you hear who's talking? Same old hiss in the mouths of the mocking:
"If you are the Sssssss son of God, come down from the crossssssssss."
Eden, the desert, and the hill of the skull: same hiss, three times, same lie, same pull,
but he stayed on the wood, took the curse, took the cost, and he answered the hiss with the word of the Lord:
"Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do."
Then the heel got bruised and the Seed went down, laid in a tomb like a seed in the ground,
and the plowmen went home thinking the field was done...
nah. The war wasn't lost. It was already won.

Sunday sunrise, the Lord is righteous, he cut the cords, death couldn't hold him, the grave lost its sword,
the stone rolled back and the Seed broke through, and the serpent's head got crushed like he said he'd do!
And the seeds that they planted? They came up as grace: the centurion confessed with his eyes on the face,
three thousand at Pentecost cut to the heart, priests in obedience, Saul to the Paul start,
the hate that they sowed came up out the dirt as love, the dead tree's blooming with life from above;
and the serpent's harvest? Grass on a roof, withers in the sun 'cause it's got no root in the truth,
no sheaf in the hand, no blessing for him. But the blessing's for us, so say it again:
"The blessing of the Lord be upon you.
We bless you in the name of the Lord."

Let Israel now say—
They been on me since my youth!
Let Israel now say—
But they never broke through!
The plowers plowed upon his back—
And they made the furrows long!
But the Lord is righteous—
Cut the cords, and the Seed is grown!