Gods of Clay

Why do we sweat so to build Magnificent ruins of marble and gold Where poor souls are bought and sold To tyrant lords their labors yield Truth is lost in their rising ranks Fattening upon tasked souls of the poor Blind leaders blinded by their splendor Anointed with worry over their looted banks O! Such sweet hope drips down their snouts They conduct poor souls to humbly follow Leading down to bars of glorious sorrow Forfeiting the promises their lies have bought Fooled they follow their neon lights Raised hands, rising pleas and deep fear They offer their wealth, sweat and tears To keep these brittle gods pleasant to sight Awaiting to be redeemed they still strive Dying slowly to keep their gods alive.