I woke up into an age called today
To see life recolored in dark grey
With ministers, prophets and reverends
Hiding skeletons in their cupboards.
Walking along the short road of life
I see hands with blood stained knifes
Dripping and calling for a fetish backup;
By the faces of the cream cleaned up.
So if the rich tell you their secret
You may wish to remain in the street
Where you sleep with both eyes close
Not frightened by shadows in clothes.