This heaven and this earth we must appease
Until the laws of destined karma cease
There is no omen, is no sign
Is no reason, is no rhyme
Mountains, crumble on us
Rolling hills, cover us
You’re crooked, kissing two masters’ feet
As Satan sifts your soul like rotten wheat
There’s a great gulf that’s fixed
Don’t sleep, pray on this
Mountains, crumble on us
Rolling hills, cover us
The son came like a bolt of lightning
Sweating blood and not admitting who he was
Drink up his alcohol, root for the underdog
His father sees all but remains unseen