When I fell into the deepest gloom
You’ve stabbed me in the back and imposed on me
Cain killed his brother out of spite
You’ve abused me and drained my life
A scorching Sun arose and burned your remains
The grumble of your greed turned to ash
Forever more
You wear the stigma of spite
To remind you of your treachery
Dystopia is a memorial
To the ones that share your greed
Such was the wicked murd’rer Cain
And such by nature still are we
Until by grace we’re born again
Malicious, blind and proud, as he.
The saints, in every age and place
Have found this history fulfilled
The numbers all our thoughts surpass
Of Abels, whom the Cains have killed!
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