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The door it opened slowly, |
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My father he came in, |
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I was nine years old. |
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And he stood so tall above me, |
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His blue eyes they were shining |
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And his voice was very cold. |
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He said, "i've had a vision |
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And you know I'm strong and holy, |
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I must do what i've been told." |
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So he started up the mountain, |
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I was running, he was walking, |
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And his axe was made of gold. |
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Well, the trees they got much smaller, |
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The lake a lady's mirror, |
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We stopped to drink some wine. |
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Then he threw the bottle over. |
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Broke a minute later |
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And he put his hand on mine. |
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Thought I saw an eagle |
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But it might have been a vulture, |
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I never could decide. |
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Then my father built an altar, |
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He looked once behind his shoulder, |
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He knew I would not hide. |
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You who build these altars now |
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To sacrifice these children, |
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You must not do it anymore. |
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A scheme is not a vision |
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And you never have been tempted |
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By a demon or a god. |
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You who stand above them now, |
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Your hatchets blunt and bloody, |
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You were not there before, |
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When I lay upon a mountain |
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And my father's hand was trembling |
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With the beauty of the word. |
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And if you call me brother now, |
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Forgive me if I inquire, |
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"Just according to whose plan?" |
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When it all comes down to dust |
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I will kill you if I must, |
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I will help you if I can. |
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When it all comes down to dust |
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I will help you if I must, |
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I will kill you if I can. |
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And mercy on our uniform, |
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Man of peace or man of war, |
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The peacock spreads his fan. |
