Seventies Pessimism: (Song from 1975)

Written in the months leading up to the General Election of 1975, The Sons of Cain was an attempt to put into words my feelings of deepening dread as the mood of the country swung inexorably to the right and all the bright hopes kindled by the election of the Third Labour Government in 1972 flickered and went out. The image is taken from the scene in Fritz Lang's Metropolis where the capitalist revellers welcome in the Whore of Babylon.

The Sons of Cain

We’ve traveled from the borderlands
Where few men dare to go.
We’ve scaled the heights of innocence,
Been blinded by the snow.
And now we cast a warning
Into your crowded stream.
For smoke drifts from the altars
And the silver sabres gleam.

And the Sons of Cain are howling
Like wolves beneath the moon
"Oh, when will it be time?", they cry
Their Master answers, "Soon."

Oh you who turn your faces
From the poet and the priest.
You are lost amongst the neon,
Bloated by the feast.
And the man who shouts the loudest
Is bound to win the strife.
In one hand he’s a golden coin,
The other wields a knife.

And the Sons of Cain are howling
Like wolves beneath the moon
"Oh, when will it be time?", they cry
Their Master answers, "Soon."

We hear the wailing of the damned
Imprisoned in the cells.
And we see the slaughter of the young
Below the broken bells.
Oh you who turn your faces,
You children of the dust;
If your living proves so tedious
Then die – die if you must.

For the Sons of Cain are marching,
Before the dawn they bow.
"Oh, when will it be time?", they cry
Their Master answers, "Now!"

Chris Trotter
1975