Lyrics Smoke in the Temple - Kill the Vultures

Smoke in the Temple

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.