| As the sun rises over Mexico
|
| And sets on the African plains
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| On a tourist jet, the in-flight magazines
|
| Sets out your rate of exchange
|
| While the unhealed and homeless are wondering
|
| If they will ever feel safe again
|
| They give you drinks and show you sailors
|
| Dancing in the warm New York rain
|
| So many souls to change
|
| So mother and child while travelling to Deli
|
| Have to jump off a burning train
|
| While the puppet rich bible class third world society
|
| Meets to discuss it’s slogan campaign
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| You are complicit in this conspiracy
|
| You are unable to get free
|
| They send the rich ones to University
|
| And the rest get comics and TV
|
| So many souls to change
|
| You are shocked with shots of corpses
|
| And seduced by scenes of greed
|
| So your overloaded conscience
|
| Goes out looking for some kind of relief
|
| And the church, the government and charity
|
| They collectively agree
|
| You cannot simply print more money
|
| Just to save some poor country from disease
|
| So many souls to change
|
| So when you die and go to heaven
|
| Looks like there could be hell to pay
|
| As the saints and angels ask how anyone
|
| Could treat mortals that way |