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Roy Buchanan
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The Story Of Isaac
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
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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.
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