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.
|
|
-----------------
|
Story Of Isaac
|
| Leonard Cohen |
