Narrator: Diana Colly Bright, 1954

No more leaves onto this ground.

The Lord gave us a daughter and a son
And I once knew a way to love you.
You came to me and said we’d have a son.
You touched my belly and named him Jonah.
When he came you wept as you held him.
But you brought him up with a stern hand,
And I convinced myself that pain was a virtue.

We moved to these woods to learn to read God’s law,
But you showed me what you read in it was all that mattered.
Through our little girl I finally saw,
That I’d let you act as a prophet and a jailer.
You sang songs with her on your shoulders,
But you forced your law when her blood came.
And I realized I’d brought my children into suffering.

No more spilling in the dust,
The blood of the ones I love.
When you come for me I will not bear the seed
Of another soul for you to crush.

I’ve prayed and prayed and prayed but in the end the only thing that stopped you was a cold, little, rubber disk.