we're all converts to the new faith,
the new church of commerce,
neither saints nor salesmen but somewhere in between.
and we're dying as apostles,
to this the more tangible gospel,
but come payday we shall be redeemed.
we're self serving in our mission,
using hand written ammunition,
to obtain for us this day our daily bread,
and we shall be fed.
it appears that there's something missing,
what are we working for?
save your holy benediction,
for the ones who share your vision,
i've played martyr to a faith i never knew,
we're surrounded by the teachings,
of prophets no longer breathing,
and a second thought was never looked into.
and i'm through.
we've been baptized in credit,
the eventual fate of the blessed,
for now we're nothing more than what we owe.
and it shows.
it appears that there's something missing,
what are we working for?
brace your holy institutions,
your supposedly fail-safe solutions,
protect your investment until she wakes and leaves.
buildings crumble, money burns,
who's accounting for what you have earned?
only fools put faith in that which burns.
you make it look so easy.