The wicked stand before you
got their guns in hand
the wicked want to speak for you
claiming this s gods land

The wicked have their suits on
Writing all the rules
The wicked are marching forward
Making men their tools

I lurch against their chains
I am at risk of being slain
You could save me
If you would just open your eyes
They tell you not to listen
To the doubt inside

I'll keep whispering
In your ear
I'll keep telling you I'm here
Until you release my withered form
I'll scream from the bottom of the cellar
Where I was born