I left Jerusalem, last week for Jericho,
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In the afternoon, the sun was getting low,
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And then the bushes shook, and out they came at me,
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They were robbing me half naked, while they beat me head to toe,
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And they left me on the road to Jericho.
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Lying almost slain, and wounded by the road,
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Crying out in pain for a sympathetic soul,
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First a priest, and another of my kind,
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Well they were men I could have trusted, but they acted deaf and blind,
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They were strangers on the road to Jericho.
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Through the blood and tears, I saw a worried face,
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He was from Samaria, my people hate his race,
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He bandaged up my wounds and he laid me on his horse,
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Although my memory is cloudy, I can still feel his friendly flow,
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Such a kind man on the road to Jericho.
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When I later asked the innkeeper the man's name he did not know,
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Just a neighbor on the road to Jericho.
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On The Road To Jericho
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| Keith Green |
