Jerusalem

Jerusalem, I'll be your violin,
a mournful Kaddish speaking for the dead.
For those among the grieving: we begin
by praising the almighty in their stead.

Your golden city gates long since torn down,
and Golgotha still groans under the weight
of suffering by those who wore your crown
and lost their heavy heads as was their fate.

And yet I sing for you, Jerusalem,
the triumph of my people, and their doom.
What does HaShem require: just one lamb?
Or must we slaughter hope, still in the womb?

I'll sing your song, both this year, and the next,
and be your violin -- you know the text.