To those long gone

In youth, like truth, the pain is there
When mem’ries come from everywhere
The birds of prey, their sweeping calls
Can spur the grave through mental halls

Have great, how fortunate, we are!
That we are free because of they
Who slay the foes of yesterday

Yet how dreadful, how miserable we are!
That we share not in the glory
Nor the story of those who passed away

O God, how long must good men die
To prove that freedom is worth its weight in blood?
How long, o Lord, must we visit the cross
Of those we love, and those we lost?

How long, O God, must mothers mourn
Their sons and daughters kept for slaughter?
How long, O God, must the battalions of battle
Form their death cries as they rattle?

How long, O God, must two men who worship you
Kill each other in the name of earthly kings
Who neither know you, nor seek your face
Who’s palace and place of pleasure are far from thee?

How long, O Lord my God, will the graves of good men
And the names of no men
Be delayed the justice that you hold so dear
Be delayed the vengeance you hold so near?

Slaughter the slaughterer O God
Bring justice to the crimes of tyrants
For you are not slow to anger, but rejoice in the truth
Let truth reign down like fire from heaven
Let the light of glory blind the enemies of the Almighty Yahweh
Fill their coffers with moths and rust
Let their enemies mock them and their allies desert them
Let their kings be locked in the prisons they have built for their enemies
And let their friends be those who shackle their feet

Bring down the whole fire from the bowl of prayers
And let the incense of heaven scorch the fields of the wicked
Let the nation that has dipped their robes in the blood of their own men
Drown in the depths of sacred depravity
Let seventy seven times seven years pass by them in anguish
And let none arise who will help them

For they have burned the homes of those who love You
And have pillaged the goods of those who serve You
They have cut off your children from the land of the living
And have given their minds to the wiles of the wicked
With injustice they have claimed themselves superior
And with letters of violence they have chosen the route of evil

So they will burn their increase and multiply their losses
They will shatter the soil and yield nothing
Their ground is accursed, and nothing will ever grow there
The earth will never yield its bounty as long as the Lord lives
And peace will never again visit the land of the wicked