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 world.
 

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.