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.
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