There is a plague on our land
Yes, one kind of bubonic
In our hearts and minds
These worms infiltrates and kills
Tears and dry bones each day
It\'s a monster that kills
Gullible and unwily are its victims
Spiritual fantasies stains their reality
One kind of anointed , one kind of miracles
Their throats are open graves
Magic and evil incantations
Innocent blood floods pulpits
It\'s a den of thieves but a house of hope
Who is hurt? Who is spared?
It\'s a wall of prison and a heavy load
Praying clothes and one kind of \'oil\'
Buy stickers to protect your house it\'s a sermon
Whose business is this?
No light in these graves
All people are a sleep
Fear is cheap people buy it
It has turned them into psychopaths
Fasting and praying to be rich
A veil in their minds , graves
Let truth speak , know it and be free