Lyrics:

The preachers from the pulpits of power

leaders of cloth

they preach to our empty pockets

and the same gang with different colors

plays up to the dialect

of establishment

Will you take our pain

will you throw bread

to us from high above?



We will stay true to trust

on these streets

but I won't be corrupted

or stuck on repeat



The preachers from the pulpits of power

leaders of cloth they preach

to our empty pockets

and the same gang

with different colors

plays up, raise up

any flag we fly

any war we buy it

any war



Will you take our pain

and will you throw bread

to us from high above?



Will you take our pain?

Will you throw bread

to us from high above?



We will stay true to trust

on these streets

but I won't be corrupted

or stuck on repeat

yet



The workers' rage in the empire days

The ratchet thrown in the children's mills

the bootstrap lies in the Patriot Plays

The burning fires on these hills

this road grows



The preachers from the pulpits of power

leaders of cloth

they preach to our empty pockets

and the same gang with different colors

plays up to the dialect

of establishment



Will you take our pain?

Will you throw bread

to us from high above?