Sins aren’t inherited
Sins die with the sinners
My father was, as is I
I pray my kids
See how sad it is
That mortal men
Tie my ancestors yokes
To my neck to bare
I have no chance now
I’m just a heathan
Ask the high and mighty
The ones on the hill
The ones in their high walled
Cathedral. Branding me all
Kinds of unspeakables
But I am here to say
That’s not my yoke
I have my own but
Thanks anyway