Let My People Go (2 of 8)
Of earthly gold. And time shall be no more.
I ride the steeds of war, my spear sharpened
to kill my brother at Pharaoh’s command.
But there’s a light that pierces all the waves,
the rage of hate, and separates our thoughts
from the darkened state of eternal war.
Go up, Moses, tell old Pharaoh to go.
We no longer need his tricks and trinkets,
his crutches enabled our servitude.
Tell Pharaoh he needs us – we don’t need him.
Without us, he, his army cease to be.
Give old Pharaoh the 4-1-1. We’re done.
No more blues, no more weeping over me.
The groans of my people have filled my ears.