Titus’s Last Will -- Fabrizio de André, in “La buona novella”, 1970

Titus is the penitent thief crucified beside Jesus. De André imagines him turning the ten commandments into his will, while he waits to die.

“Thou shalt have no Gods before me”. That often made me think of other people from the East, who said their God was about the same. They believed in someone different from you, yet they did not hurt me.

“Thou shalt not take the Lord’s name, thou shalt not take it in vain”. Yet, with a knife piercing my side, I screamed my pain and His name. But perhaps he was tired, perhaps too busy, and didn’t hear my pain. Perhaps he was too far removed to feel my suffering, yet I named him in vain.

“Honor thy father, honor thy mother”, honor their belt too, kiss the hand that broke my nose when I asked for a morsel. When my father’s heart stopped I felt no pain.

“Remember the sabbath to keep it holy”. Easy for us thieves, to enter the temples that regurgitate psalms, about slaves and their masters, and then end up tied to the altars, throats slit like animals.

“Thou shalt not steal”, and perhaps I honored that one, by silently emptying the swollen pockets of bigger thieves. Yet, without the law on my side, I stole in my own name, and those others in the name of God.

“Thou shalt not commit impure acts”, that is, do not waste your semen. Impregnate a woman every time you make love to her, thus you’ll prove your faith. Then the lust goes away and the children remain, and many the hunger will kill. Perhaps I confused pleasure and love, yet I created no suffering.

The seventh says “Thou shalt not kill”, if you want to be worthy of heaven. Yet look at this law of God today, thrice nailed onto wood: look at the end of that Nazarene, and this thief doesn’t die any less.

“Thou shalt not bear false witness”, and help them kill a man. They have memorized divine law, yet always forget forgiving: I perjured myself unto God and honor, yet I don’t feel the pain: I hurt no one.

“Thou shalt not covet thy neighbors things nor wife”. Tell that to the few who have a woman and some things: in their warm beds, already warmed by love, I did not feel any pain. The envy of yesterday is gone already: tonight I envy your life.

Yet the night now comes, the dark takes the pain off my eyes, and the sun slips down from the dunes, gone to rape another night. And I, looking at this man die, I do feel the pain. Mother, as rage surrenders to pity, I do find love, yes, I have learned to love.