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Andrew Osenga
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Firstborn Son
I was the firstborn son of a firstborn son
In the wake of family tragedy
After fruitless years I was the chosen one
To plant the flag of destiny
To eyes who saw what they had seen
I was a screaming, bloody symbol
Of life and what it once had been
Before the marching crush of evil
I was the firstborn son of a firstborn son
We prayed each night to the risen God
For our loved ones health and safety
Then we locked the doors and windows up
So there was no danger and we were not free
The big, bad world was on the hunt
And its dogs were fixed on our scent
Clouds of fear may block the sun
Still the earth remains in orbit
God, help the man who helps himself! He needs no other devil
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Give us courage now to say farewell to this fear and watch it crumble
I've worked a job since I was twelve years old
A student of the middle class of America
Pull up your bootstraps, baby, you're on your own
You are what you have and you don't have much
The manna rained down from the sky
And I looked for explanation
Moses walked the sea bone dry
In my father's generation
And this firstborn son won't stop asking why
Why!?!
God, help the man who helps himself! He needs no other devil
Give me courage now to face myself and dance as these walls crumble
Torn down by the blood of a firstborn son
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