For the rain, the abundance, the fruit of earth in plenty To Molech the tyrant all Cainan brings their seed Wherefore upon his outstretched hands Do they pass their firstborn sons and daughters to the fire of his greed
A dissonant band of flutes and tamborines crowds around his brazen shrine Masking the sacrificial shrieks of infants offered up By parents who, if they heard the child’s agony Might pluck them hence, deprive the fire god, and so induce his rage
But does the smoldering of flesh and crackling bone Coax him to show forth his grace Or does the number of mouths he silences Lessen the demand for bread
From Carthage to Sidon his topeths blacken thus To make fertile lands and strengthen hands alike in war and peace But as Israel’s hosts approach their gates how many mighty sons go forth? What hero stands to slake the blade and blunt the fall of Yahweh’s wrath?
Oh champion who never stood Has all our hope been slain with you?
Despise the honor of maternity, upon fatherhood a curse Unto hedon the liar bring all thy days of youth For pride of life and lust of flesh pursuit of pleasure sweet yet Than tender selfless toil, yes, than the breath of life given anew
What more can the vacuum devour? To what less can these crushing tongues reduce? Mothers to maidens, the fruitful to barren Empires to servitude
From nineteen-hundred and seventy-three, their blood flows unassuaged Drained from cradles, wombs, and mothers arms to fill the land of the dead I watch as parents file forth to give them up for lost Filling the ranks and nameless rosters of seven holocausts
Has all our hope been slain with you? Oh champion who never stoodTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
