To the plastic priestess with the brightest eyes
Her hands raised high inside a modest disguise
While she worships her semantics, frantic for a throne room in the skies
She’ll talk of grace, but look her in the face and you’ll find no second tries
To the sons of study who teach youths how to talk
Raise them up right to be children of a gilded cross
Put shoes of good news on their feet, but with little room to walk
Can the good news get through when all the words of love are lost
Anyway, drunk Jesus and some hungry whores
Are knocking humbly at your mansion doors
But I know these castle walls can hold out the poor
‘Cause really their kingdom was never good enough for yours
So judge me all you like and i’ll try not to judge you
When even the slightest hint of brokenness, you never could much see through
Judge me all you like, ‘cause i’ve no right to judge you
Truth is i’m incredibly broken, and my guess is: so are you
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