No, nothing was too sacred for our hands
We took their hearts and minds in well-sealed jars
We claimed their graves and claimed to understand
We slowly mapped their place among the stars
And mounted exhibitions of our finds
We took their hearts and minds in well-sealed jars
We sought the wealthy men our way inclined
Whose only fear was having less than all
And mounted exhibitions of our finds
We dug down deep when humbler treasures palled
Bore out to light the ones who lived as gods
Whose only fear was having less than all
And for misfortune we were lightning rods
Crooked flail twisted, hard against our backs
Bore out of light the ones who lived as gods
And now for fame their dust will never lack
Yes, nothing was too sacred for our hands
Crooked flail twisted, hard against our backs
We claimed their graves and claimed to understand
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