Oh, we walk on the ashes

Oh Lord, the ashes of the wicked

The big man tells us

The big man shouts

We all sinners

But, Oh Lord, we the righteous

‘Cause we walk on the ashes

And they still hot

Beneath us, beneath our feet

Don’t you ask who’s who

Don’t ask who they were

‘Cause they the wicked

And they burned

And, Oh, we plough the fields

We harvest the Lordy’s children

‘Cause he loves them

And he wants ‘em come home

Why they left

Don’t you ask

Or you be wicked

We trample them ones

Or we be wicked as them

Pick up the book

And throw it down

Loud like thunderin’

Throw it down

The voice of the Lord

Is leather on wood

The big man speaks that tongue

And with a fiery finger

He points out them sinners

And he’s one of ‘em

But he points ‘em out

And I’m one, he shouts

But we ain’t wicked

Oh, Lord, no

We the walkers

The tramplers on the ashes

Of the wicked

But who are they?

They not us

We know

‘Cause we yell and shout

We sinners

But we ain’t wicked

Oh Lord

Oh God

Oh Christ,

Who are we then, if we ain’t them?

And who are the wicked

If they not us?

I guess it don’t matter

‘Cause we ain’t them

And we don’t ask.