Story Of Isaac-Leonard Cohen/Suzanne Vega

Well, the door it opened slowly, my father he came in, I was nine years old. And he stood so tall above me, and 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 we started up the mountain, I was running, he was walking, and his axe was made of burning gold. Well, the trees they got much smaller, yes, the lake a lady's mirror when 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, I guess he knew I would not hide. You who build these altars now to sacrifice our 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, I mean the beauty of the word. And if you call me brother now, forgive me but I must 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'll kill you if I can. And mercy, mercy on our uniform, man of peace, man of war, the peacock spreads his deadly fan.