My soul is weary of my life
I will leave my complaint upon myself
I will speak in the bitterness of my soul
I will demand of God that you condemn me
It matters not wherefore thou contends with me
It is good unto me that thou shouldest oppress
That thou shouldest despise the work of thine hands
And shine upon the counsel of the wicked
A madman's lantern falls broken upon unfeeling ground
What once was holiest has bled to death under our knives
Who will wipe this blood off us?
Who will wipe this blood off us?
Thy days are as the days of man
For thou art mortal and shall diminish
Thou knowest that I am wicked (I am wicked)
And there is none that could deliver thou out of my hand
A madman's lantern falls broken upon unfeeling ground
What once was holiest has bled to death under our knives
Who will wipe this blood off us?
Who will wipe this blood off us?
