Anaxszercia

This city wears a crimson color Painted on by the martyrs brush Sand descends into auburn crust And stones hide their scarlet backs For the persecuted have no crypt But the city clasps all bones As its earth soaks open wounds And its sediment turned flesh Now a martyr turns nomad To succeed the painted city Exiled by bloodshed and Pagan calumny For each new found vestige is painted If a city urchin trails Now nomads pray for David’s star Vast they pilgrim from the painted city To cross Jordan waters and be delivered