For the record, I must say It's sad to see you all pray All pray your lives away When in reality
Why should we believe in something we can't see? A mockery, orchestrating hypocrisy Oh, the irony
Open up your eyes and There you go, pointing your fingers at me You burn it in and out of humanity
Now you see those clergy eat better than you and me They tour amongst the shores with stouthearted feet Trade stigma, ad harlots Golden letters, leather-bound looks
Fight with fire and throwing stones, our world sheds When our rivers run red Fight with fire and throwing stones, our world sheds When our rivers run red We'll never know where we'll go Till there's a crutch to call home We'll never know
