Close your eyes and stay with me, o’ brother.
Because your pride is falling behind.
You bite the hand that feeds
While you kiss the one that’s starving you
You’re just becoming part of the world.
You’re just a wild flower dressed up in your business suit.
You can’t blame the father for the sins of the son.
Don’t make excuses. Don’t masquerade.
Stop boasting battles that you’ve yet to win.
They’re playing cards with a loaded deck
And you’re calling tails on their two headed coin.
So let’s raise the stakes.
Just take a chance on me.
You fight your fate like Oedipus raised you.
And now you’ve made your ministry digging up my grave.
You keep your pulpit tunes.
I’ll sing my poor boy blues.
Track Name: 3-2
I see the building, I see the steeple
We’re just here for the bloodline
We’re just here for the bread line
I can’t see the Church up on my high perch
We’re just here for the free wine.
Where are the people all painted and regal?
You’re foolish and feeble up in your cathedral.
Bloodline. Cloud nine. Hotline.
This church is a business and what we do is not your business
Business, riches, a mistress.
I came to get rich before I get old
Your mouth is a faucet that only runs cold
I am the way
And if you’re chasing the American dream
The truth and the lie.
That not a soul saw coming
You brood of vipers.
I’ve seen this all before
All is vanity evermore
Build your own religion
Selfless service sold
There’s nothing covered that won’t be uncovered
Nothing hidden that won’t be made known
And what you speak in the dark will be heard in the daylight
And shouted from rooftops
My hypocrisy is my own
A generation comes
A generation goes
And man still can’t speak
What is crooked cannot be made straight
What is lacking cannot be given worth
I’ve put my faith in books and other’s words
I’ve made light of God and of my father’s curse
With the more I know, the more I continue to grieve.
Out with redemption and in with my apathy
What has been is what will be
And what has been done is what will be done to me
These words were never my own to speak
I merely borrowed the message and twisted the ending
A crooked futile pursuit of the wind.
For there is nothing new under the sun.