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Do you feel alive now that you own the dead |
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Praying on their corpses, their hearts no longer feel |
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Your sainthood is obvious on every starving face |
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Your deception's given us a way to separate |
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The poor from their hate, the rich from the stone |
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Genuflect away the sins that we've known |
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Sure one percent rules but heaven's made of gold |
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So chalk it up to folly and consequence alone |
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Do we really want what we really need a bastard messiah |
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Wrapped up in the dream of patriotic clean white washed desire |
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And every time the real war's defined, the trenches are filled |
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To hide battle lines, torches to bridges and bridges to torture |
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Headlines distort what we see as our borders |
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And what gives us the right to feed with remorse for a |
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GodThey created, a |
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God for the poor, for bathory we're bleeding |
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Out the devil hicks in angelic shrouds, blasphemy as speaking |
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Out we've asked for it for more of the same |
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Sad scheme of ghettos created by the power elite |
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For our minds and souls burning, no longer |
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For freedom invoked just more of the same |
