The Sons of Cain

Old, lonely, and endless light. Cold morning rises from the night.
No smile smiles back through the glare. No Voice calls back from the stairs.
Oh, those wounds on your blistered feet? That march you on along that dusted street
Oh, that dust gathers 'round your head as, clean, I rise form my lonely bed
All the talking - this and that none taking me to where you're at
Oh, as fine as the day is long
Oh, my fineness, where have you gone?
And I know I'm not to sing of fights I've missed
But, alone, I've got to sing just to exist
And to resist
So you're gone now, and who's to blame?
Left down here among the sons of Cain
Have you gone on to their heavenly fame
Leaving me here among the sons of Cain?
So, you're gone now, and who's to blame?
Left down here among the sons of Cain
Oh, you're gone now, and who's to blame?
All alone among the sons of Cain