For his rune and for his gold 
How easily the flock is steered 
By hands so fine, cruel, and kind 
Hands that point us down the years 

Down the years 

The power of gold, or even God above 
Awash in blood in history's mud 
With assassins' bullets and martyrs' spears 
Slaying and praying down the years 

Down the years 

Feed on the betrayer and the betrayed 
Time's demon lovers go from poison cups 
Their lying and plotting just got too much 

And your paper heroes--they'll turn to dust 
Like our knights in armor--they turn to rust 
Go hang the scapegoat; let the masses cheer 
Their idiot laughter an anthem down the years 

Down the years