[ WP ] Turn your favourite song into a piece of prose/poetry without mentioning the song .

** ( This is n't my favourite song, not by a long stretch, but my favourite songs are n't in English originally, so a story adapted from their lyrics would n't be recognised by any reasonable stretch. I've picked a song that I feel is recognisable, and offers an interesting opportunity for interpretation. ) ** 
 
 Woke up feeling dry this morning. Like parchment, like a locust's husk left flimsily clinging to a stalk of withered grass, my lips rasped against each other. Need a drink. Got up from my cot, walked to the table where, just last night, I'd sat with them -- with *him. * Poured a cup, lifted it up to my parchment lips; to my paper throat, the wine soothed and renewed. 
 
 `` This is my blood, shed for you,'' he had said. 
 
 Tears began pouring from my eyes -- so dry my lips, but so wet my eyes -- and in a rage I smashed the cup on the table. Shards of clay, sharper than I had expected, tore a hole in my skin. My wine mixed with his on the table and the tears flowed more freely. 
 
 *Focus on the pain*, I told myself. *That's all that's real right now. * 
 
 Glanced over at my cot, and saw his linen shawl lying there on the edge. Walked over and scooped it up, pressing the soft, thin fabric up against my cheek and nose. Breathed in deeply; breathed *him* in. Saw, underneath the shawl, the heavy bag; neck open, spilling silver. Unbidden, the tears returned. 
 
 *What have I become? * 
 
 `` My sweetest friend,'' I said aloud. My mind replayed the previous night over and over again, weeping for the things I had done. Grabbed the broken cup, poured the wine into it again and again. Tried to kill it all away. 
 
 But I remember everything. 
 
 He had gone into the garden to be alone; by then I had gone to claim the silver, drops of moonlight tinted wine red. But before... before we had arrived for dinner, I had walked with him. Talked with him like I always had. 
 
 `` You can not see it, my friend,'' he had spoken, `` but I already wear a crown of thorns upon my head. I know what will become of me, and I know how it will come about.'' 
 
 He had paused. 
 
 `` My dearest love; brother of my heart,'' he had started, before making a small choking sound. A knot was in my stomach as he continued, `` I can see what you will do.'' 
 
 `` I love you too, my king of all kings,'' I had said back, `` but with these words you had best be sat upon a liar's chair!'' I tried to laugh then, but the sound was dry. `` Fear not. Tonight is a night for all of us to share.'' 
 
 We had gone in to dinner, which continued in fine spirits, with body and blood appearing as well. Almost without me realising it, though, he had begun to speak of betrayal. I had been drinking, and when I looked up from a swallow of wine, all eyes were on me. 
 
 `` What?'' I had asked. 
 
 `` I said,'' he had said, `` that one of you will, this very night, betray me.'' 
 
 `` Rabbi,'' I had pleaded, `` surely you can not mean me?'' 
 
 He had said nothing, but continued only to gaze at me with his eyes, the eyes more pure and beautiful than any mere man's eyes could be. Under his gaze, I had broken like a clay wine cup. 
 
 `` You stay the hell away from me, you hear?!'' 
 
 And I had run, my blood as cold as silver. My mind, full as it was of broken thoughts, I could not repair. 
 
 From there, he had gone to the garden to be alone, as I said. I arrived sometime later with officials in tow. l could n't bear to see him, to see them take him; but that scum, that guttersnipe Peter, had had the gall to say once, twice, a third time, that he did n't know our lord. That had made me angriest of all. 
 
 I ran up to my king, to my Rabbi, and embraced him one final time, pulling from his shoulders the linen shawl that hung there. 
 
 `` My lord,'' I had said, voice thick with wine and self-loathing, `` I am sorry. In my mind, you have passed beyond me; you are more than the wretched man I am; you are someone else, and I am stuck right here. I have let you down.'' 
 
 His eyes had looked deeper and darker than they ever had before. 
 
 `` Even if all I ever owned was a barren kingdom, an empire of dirt, my friend,'' he had said to me, eyes fixed on mine. `` I would still wish it all to you. Know that you are well-loved.'' 
 
 And then he was gone. 
 
 I had returned to my villa, the site of the supper, and drank myself to stupor. 
 
 The broken cup fell from my hands at these thoughts. Scheduled for today. Unable to face the hill of skulls, I walked instead to the garden carrying his shawl. Arrived at the tree where he had prayed. The breeze sifted through the garden, neither warm nor cold. Dead-feeling. The temperature of old blood. Touched my forehead against the tree. 
 
 `` If I could start again...'' 
 
 Looped the shawl over a branch of the tree, and tied it around my neck. 
 
 I would find a way to send myself a million miles away. I had made him hurt, and now, today, I would too.
