Beggar At The Gates Of Babylon
Don’t you want to be a soldier?
Don’t you want to be a banker?
Don’t you want to be someone?
You’d better start applying
before all the posts have gone.
Thank you for your advice.
I know I’ll pay the price
for not knowing who I am.
The lamp of truth shone in the temple
where they once sacrificed the lamb,
but I was told to kneel to a god
they called the golden ram.
Do you want to be a leader?
Do you want to be a pilgrim?
Do you want to stay no one?
Each moment you are dying.
Do something before you’re gone.
I was half way up the rigging
when the cannon ball split the mast.
I remember falling to the deck,
but like the smoke, that life has past.
Do you want to be rich to ride the super sonic train
or remain trapped on the circuit of the tram?
No, I know it sounds a bit of a bind,
but I just want to find out who I am.
The older I get the more on my mind.
I will not lay down like a lamb
nor will I be led to the temple
to kneel before the golden ram.
Trailers for your ultimate war computer games
torture my television screen.
So that is what they want, I think to myself.
Only I know what I mean.
Earth but a battlefield,
all men soldiers without names,
speaking in smart one liners,
exploding buildings already in flames.
And I know there are secret vaults
where highly efficient military men
play real war moves on computer screens,
plan the paths of bomber planes,
the stations of submarines.
And always there’s the red buttons to press,
as life as sacred grows less and less.
Do you weep like Moses on the mountain
over the ten commandments broken?
To his Lord says, here I am.
The many tribes are scattered.
One thing they have in common,
the worship of the golden ram.
I stole a cup from a carpenter
to beg at the gates of Babylon.
The priest, the merchant, the charioteer walked by,
but that life I led has gone.
Do you want to say something before you go
or just leave behind some facts?
You know a man can be judged by what he did not do
as much as by his acts.
Tell them I never gave up the search
until my final breath.
Tell them I ever wanted the truth
and that there’s more to life than death.
Beggar at the gates of Babylon,
few coins to count in my cup.
My back hard against the wall,
eyes ever looking up.
Every kind of woman passed me by,
every kind of man.
The city guards arrested me,
said I was like a stain
on a lady’s peacock feather fan.
They led me to the judgement seat,
put me in a prison cell.
The foul smell of that dark stone hole,
I can still remember well.
So you recall when you had nothing,
a beggar at the gates of Babylon?
Yes, but after, there came my release,
and I knew, the life I led had gone.