You know, there are two kinds of men,
One kind is growing thickest skin
In order not to feel the blows,
And to be deaf when neighbour mourns.

There is another kind, whose skin
Is thinner than a tissue silk
They feel an apple falls ashore,
In lover's eye they see a tear .

That's here they tore off skin from you,
Bartholomew, Bartholomew,
And all the Maiden's Tower cried
And tears went up to the Sky.

But even in the greatest pain
You feel as if you were ordained.
Oh, take my skin, make parchment
To write on it New Testament.

From then and on you point the way
To people who can't bear the pain.
You point it with your famous knife
Instead of murder you divide.
Those who are saving their hide
From those who stand without a might
With only love on their side
And through their bodies streams a Light.

Lyrics: Thomas Jonas Chepaitis 2011