Singing Ax

It’s been a brutal existence
For most
This far
We were clawing in the dirt
We were dying in birth
We were grinding grain in the noon day sun
With madmen spitting bloody feathers to appease the demons
Oh
It’s been a godless existence
For some
This far
We were breaking bread
In a brotherhood of men
No, I can’t recall a single memory of our universal past
And I’ve never felt a drop of blood fall from beneath my singing ax
Oh
It’s been a voiceless wilderness
For most
Of us this far
And there’s no prophet on the mount
Whose words won’t be drowned out
By our locust fingers clicking neverending in our lapse
We traded in divine inheritance to break our pagan masks
Are there none who walk among us who remember what we had?