Oh, I’d kill the fatted calf alright,
the lamb, the pig and all the rest,
I’d stroke your face, trim your hair
bathe you, clothe you in your best,
enthrone you at the table head
and we’d feast and dance
until early light;
then I’d look you in the eyes,
grab you, shake you, berate and shout,
for the double surprise, for the
crushing months of pain and doubt.