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 peacock spreads his fan.