The door it opened slowly,
my father he came in,
I was nine years old.

And he stood so tall above me,
his blue eyes they were shining
and his voice was very cold.

He said, "I've had a vision
and you know I'm strong and holy,
I must do what I've been told."

So he started up the mountain,
I was running, he was walking,
and his axe was made of gold.

Well, the trees they got much smaller,
the lake a lady's mirror,
we stopped to drink some wine.

Then he threw the bottle over.
Broke a minute later
and he put his hand on mine.

Thought I saw an eagle
but it might have been a vulture,
I never could decide.

Then my father built an altar,
he looked once behind his shoulder,
he knew I would not hide.


You who build these altars now
to sacrifice these children,

you must not do it anymore.
A scheme is not a vision
and you never have been tempted

by a demon or a god.
You who stand above them now,
your hatchets blunt and bloody,

you were not there before,
when I lay upon a mountain
and my father's hand was trembling

with the beauty of the word.

And if you call me brother now,

forgive me if I inquire,
"Just according to whose plan?"
When it all comes down to dust

I will kill you if I must,
I will help you if I can.
When it all comes down to dust

I will help you if I must,
I will kill you if I can.
And mercy on our uniform,

man of peace or man of war,
the pea@@#! spreads his fan.