Lyrics

There's a petty little man with grabby little hands
A wannabe king with a tangerine tan
Selling lies to buy a throne and evil feels at home again
He's just a symptom of the sickness in the blackened hearts of men

Fear of love and love of hate prepends the state our affairs of state are in
An endless, looping eulogy drones over children's bones again
Because weapons made for murder fall under "rights we must defend"
It's just a symptom of the sickness in the blackened hearts of men

Gears are greased on war machines as armies march on puppet strings
Usurped rule appeals to fools to heel and forfeit reason
And questions become treason when the light of freedom dims
All symptoms of the sickness in the blackened hearts of men

There is privilege implicit in being born "just so"
At a threshold of prosperity, with just a bit of tint to show
But just a hint. Too much of it is a hinderance, don't you know
You go too fast or fail to blink, you could end up in the clink
. . . if not muerto

Apathy appeases this most deadly of diseases
Running rampant through the ages. Fanning flames with toxic breezes
Filling headlines soaked in blood. Selling papers telling nothing
Of the darkness always dwelling in the blackened hearts of men
Amen. Amen.

Music & lyrics by David Greathouse
©2018, Sourdough Music, ASCAP