LOOK ON MY WORKS

LOOK ON MY WORKS
THE NAZARENE

[INTRO]

Look on my works.

That is what kings say.

That is what ages say.

But the desert remembers.

[VERSE]

Look on my works, said the king to the sand, name cut deep by a dead man’s hand, stone face staring at time like a god, then wind came quiet and buried the fraud, left legs in the wilderness, pride in the dirt, a broken mouth learning what vanity hurts,

look on our works, says the modern age too, rockets in darkness, cold moon shoe, flag in the dust where no grass grows, but who is this “we” when the grave still knows, when billions stayed earthbound and death took more, when mothers still wept by the hospital door, when the moon did not pardon one sinner it thrilled, when the rocket went up but the cemeteries filled,

look at our labs, look at our names, look at our prizes engraved in fame, and yes, remember the minds that discovered, honour the hands that measured and wondered, but if remembering works becomes worship of man, Ozymandias rises with a lab coat tan,

Newton saw law and bowed past the numbers, Pascal saw fire where the proud world slumbers, Mendel saw order in seed and stem, but modern mouths take their work and forget Him, turn equations to statues, preach dust as Lord, then call it wisdom when worship is ignored,

Plato heard Egypt tell Greece, “You are young,” always beginning with a childlike tongue, memory washed by flood and flame, old worlds buried with a brand-new name, Atlantis sinks and Babel climbs back, same proud heart with a cleaner track, children with rockets, infants with fire, forgetting the graves underneath their desire,

Solomon ran the experiment first, drank from the rivers of pleasure and thirst, gardens and gold, music and wine, houses and power, wisdom and time, laughter and labour, greatness and fame, then wrote “vanity” over the whole bright game, not because beauty is evil or skill is sin, but under the sun without God all wins cave in,

one age calls itself final and clean, then archaeologists brush it from mud like a dream, Assyria sleeps, Babylon lies, Greece is a shard under museum lights, Rome sold roads like they conquered decay, but Caesar is ash and the roads crack away, every throne learns the grammar of fall, every statue hears the worms give call,

look on my works, says the billionaire plan, Mars map glowing in a rich man’s hand, bunker, brain chip, cloud and brand, future sold bright to a dying land, but if the heart stays ancient and sin stays old, new machines only make the old serpent bold, and Babel with fibre is Babel still, a tower with Wi-Fi against God’s will,

the tragedy is not that humans create, the tragedy is boasting while stood at the gate, gift becomes idol, tool becomes throne, creature forgets that breath is on loan, poet sees ruins and names despair, prophet sees dust and says prepare, because every work will be brought into judgement, every secret thing, every polished adjustment,

so do not say “we” like a crown on your head, when your “we” keeps losing its children to death, do not call moon dust salvation or flight, when the grave still knocks at the door every night, do not mistake memory for resurrection, or human achievement for divine protection,

look on His works, let the boast be corrected, look at the Cross where the proud are dissected, look at the hands stretched open wide, not to plant flags but to bleed and die, look at the stone rolled away from the grave, look at the Lord giving orders to slaves, sin lost claim, death lost teeth, mercy walked out with scars underneath,

Christ is not another name in the sand, not another statue with a broken hand, not another genius remembered by quotes, not another moonshot in history notes, He is the Word through whom all things came, Alpha before every human name, Omega after the last tower falls, Judge who hears when the dust still calls,

repent while breath is still near in your chest, repent before time puts your works to rest, come to the Christ who entered our dust, bore our sin, broke death’s trust, rose bodily, scars still bright, the true Work of God in the grave’s own night,

look on His works, ye mortal, and live, look at the mercy the King came to give, Ozymandias crumbled, Solomon sighed, moon dust listened while billions died, but Jesus rose where dead works cease, and the Kingdom He brings has no ruins beneath.