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Story Of Isaac

by
 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.

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