Woe
to the great city of
You’ve
become a prison for all sorts of demons
Your
filthiness has been seen by the Lord
And
so a great wrath upon you will be poured
You
will be paid back twice for what you’ve done
You’ve
been given no place to run
The
merchants will weep over your great name
When
everything in you has turned to flame
The
kings of the earth will wail and lament
Because
in one hour your judgment has been spent
The
sailors say where is another city
With
the gold and riches that come out of thee?
Like
a great millstone thrown into the sea
Is
the way that
No
more will musicians put forth their sound
‘Cause
in you the blood of the saints was found
People
in heaven will praise God for this deed
For
no more on the saints blood will you feed
Woe
to
July
1976
Music
and lyrics by Bill Griffin
Copyright
1976 Bill Griffin