Sons of Perdition - Lenders in the Temple | Текст песни

• Тексты песен
• Sons of Perdition
• Lenders in the Temple

The church in the desert, like a purse stuffed with gold, is surrounded by the hungry, the infirm, and old. And though they make a show of sweeping scraps from their table, they stick it to the poor every chance that they're able. There's lenders in the temple; jackals in the house of God. So me and this drifter broke in there for funds. We made out with the coffers as the clergy sat stunned. I said, "This mansion was built on the backs of the poor, so just pray for our souls as you lie on the floor." The priest pulled a pistol as we ran out the door. I felt a bullet rip through me and I fell to the floor. My partner stopped to help and was shot several times. The money fell in the pool of blood, brains and grime. The priest hit his knees like a man meant to pray. His vestments in gore, his beady eyes glazed. But he wasn't giving last rites to my friend growing cold. The cops swarmed around me as he clawed for his gold. Flip their tables, burn their notes, let's string 'em up and slit their throats.

Sons of Perdition еще тексты