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Cheating Sons
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The Mercy of Cain and Abel
Mercy, your temple is shrouded by your giver's lore
Unto your altar he calls
Today he is famished by feeding from the seedy halls
And back to his bastion he crawls
Pictures of paisley adorn his pastel coloured walls
Castle on clouds tower tall
He sips from you, Mercy, and in between his loud guffaws
Whistles to all he adores
Angel, you shower your notes on his lies
Although it's your nature, I think it unwise
To shelter and cradle the pig in its sty
And from rightful vengeance you shy
Pardon my French cos' the stench don't deny
The state of the pristine presumptions that fly
Intrepid faces that mock your reply
With all that his money can buy
I'll be home waiting on the slim hope
That the good Lord hears my prayers
So that he will atone
I feel the ticking of your heartbeat, wired to mine
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We're rats in the rough, clinging on to borrowed time
Mercy, I need you to sweeten my unfaithful hand
Clenched in a fist it can't run
To have your forgiveness would elevate my feeble stand
And back to the plough for some fun
Giver, your suit has been sewn with threads of bold discord
Fashioned in primitive ways
Look for the jester who juggles rhymes and voodoo swords
To wield forth a joke to your face
The whip bears a crack and the cattle will call
You stand by your man but your man he must fall
The jealous old rancher will lay down no more
And into the Giver he tore
Blood's on your hand said the Giver aloud
You'll cry for my Mercy, but Mercy won't rouse
I fed you, my brother, you made me so proud
My demons from now you will house
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