Down South at the Border, No Crib for a Bed

I was messing around with music in the shed on Thursday. Thinking about the baby Jesus... down at the border... no crib for a bed.

Away in a manger? Hardly.

Down south at the border, no crib for a bed,

The little Lord Jesus lays down his tired head.

The stars in the desert sky look down where he lays.

The little Lord Jesus terrified in a cage.

The mother is weeping, her empty arms ache.

As little Lord Jesus on cold concrete lays.

We say we love you Lord Jesus, but you cannot stay.

There's no room for your kind, so we're throwing you away.

The guards wave their weapons, the poor baby wakes.

The little Lord Jesus for mercy he begs.

We say we love you Lord Jesus, but your teachings are weak.

Your peace, love and justice aren't the strongman we seek.