The Conscience Of Man And Cynical Gods

Trying to shed some light on poverty and addiction

Those charlatan deceivers on wings disguised as healers
March like crooked soldiers to the after hours dealers
The taxi cab tail lights reflect an angel in a storm drain
Painted like a gypsy while she's tying off a vein

They quote from Zephaniah when the lights go out on 3rd
Fire escapes are blazing and the sirens go unheard
Screaming in the hallway with asbestos in the lung
They'll Burn it to the ground when all is said and done

There are newspaper blankets under storefront cages
With mothers and children wrapped up in the pages
And they will pray in the face of impossible odds
To the conscience of man and his cynical gods

When the bells of Saint Marks ring out every morning
Like a knife to the heart or an ominous warning
They'll rise from the gutters like ghosts from the grave
So cherish your souls and the pennies you save