Story Of Isaac

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.