For his rune and for his gold How easily the flock is steered By hands so fine, cruel, and kind Hands that point us down the years Down the years The power of gold, or even God above Awash in blood in history's mud With assassins' bullets and martyrs' spears Slaying and praying down the years Down the years Sex and money, like birds of prey Feed on the betrayer and the betrayed Time's demon lovers go from poison cups Their lying and plotting just got too much And your paper heroes--they'll turn to dust Like our knights in armor--they turn to rust Go hang the scapegoat; let the masses cheer Their idiot laughter an anthem down the years Down the years