Smoke in the Temple - Kill the Vultures

A little blood in the liquor makes the night go quicker

It ain’t lights out ‘cause a lightbulb flicker

White folks whisper/ black snake moan

Whole town fits in a halfway home

Cause unknown but the outcome clear

Gotta catch my breath when I outrun fear

Now now here, give me both of your ears

Take an intermission listen to gears gr- grinding

Climb in the back/ hide in the stack

Don’t let nobody see ya/ once they find you that’s all

Folks wanna act like they don’t know how to act

Let ‘em in the front door I’m walking out the back

Try to follow my tracks/ they’ll lead you off the map

Now you trapped and you don’t know where its at

Tell me where it went- you part of an experiment

High as a seraphim/ eyes on the cross and your hands on the theremin

Who ever said worship was simple?

The smoke in the temple ain’t leaving out the window

Who ever said worship was simple?

Purify the sinful they’ll recognize our symbols

Who ever said worship was simple?

The smoke in the temple ain’t moving when the wind blows

Who ever said worship was simple?

Now baptize the info and feed it to your kinfolk

Spin ‘em ‘round and ‘round till the lights fade

Not yet, it ain’t dark yet

The price paid drips slowly off the knife’s blade

Not yet, it ain’t dark yet

They spin us round and round till the lights fade

Not yet, it ain’t dark yet

Its time to pull the blindfold/ stop thinking that your sight’s lame

Not yet, the light never left

Here’s a toast: give up the ghost

You hold it too close and I don’t say that to most

You’re blinded by the imagery, mimicry, trickery

The cracks in your mask shine vividly

Keep spinnin' me/ blur the lines of symmetry

Suffocate the suffering/ I’m a let the embers breathe

Suffocate suffering/ orchestrate the misery

But if I’m the conductor I’ll have to face the symphony

Take a bow for the crowd- own it

The pill tastes better on the way down, don’t it?

Sell it to the camera/ hold it, hold it

The picture last longer than the nightmare, won’t it?

False idols bridle the pulpit

While the saints go marching in with Bibles and bullets

If it’s tribal they rival with bull whips

Like we on some Man-Tan minstrel sideshow bullshit

You better dance for that dollar with a smile on

Whether in night gowns, fishnets or nylons

Every dollar’s born filthy

But we baptize the young in our river water, guilty.