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In long years of ancient time, stood alone a friend of mine. |
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Reflected by the ever-burning sigh of a god who happened by. |
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And in the dawn, there came the song |
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Of some sweet lady singing in his ear. |
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Your god has gone, and from now on, |
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You'll have to learn to hate the things you fear. |
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We want to know, are we inside the womb? |
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Of passion plays, in thy righteousness consumed? |
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Or just in lush contentment of our souls? |
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And so began the age of man, |
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And they left his body in the sand. |
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Their glasses raised to a god on high, |
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Who smiled upon them from the sky. |
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So take the stage. |
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Spin down the ages. |
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Loose the passion. |
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Spill the rage upon your son |
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Who holds the gun up to your head. |
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The play's begun. |
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Then god, the director, smells a rat. |
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Pulls another rabbit from his hat. |
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Sniffs the air and he says ``well, that's that--i'm going.'' |
