The unsatisfied, the thirsty,
The hungry lead the race
To a debtor peasants heaven,
To a final resting place.
So who are we to deprive them,
Colonial sons and daughters
Of the right to set their pace.
Dress their bodies for their own slaughter.

All they're told,
Is suffer on there's a better world coming.
All they know,
Is what a bullet said to believe.

This sorry worlds devotion
To a heavy handed fate,
Which profits from distortion,
Whose bedfellows are fear and hate.
In tying down the village,
To the churches stones,
When the world moves,
What are we left with?
Epithets and broken bones.

All they're told,
Is suffer on there's a better world coming.
All they know
Is what a bullet said to believe.
All we know,
Is suffer on there's a better world coming.
All we know,
But would rather not believe.

Who wants your peace?
Your handouts only dig your claws in deeper.
And your compassion?
It's just your ticket to a higher cloud.
The price of heaven is just to fear and blindly serve your master.
While dressed in purple,
Commanding grief that will make his devil proud.

And we all pray.
All they're told,
Is suffer on there's a better world coming.
All they know,
Is what a bullet said to believe.
All we know,
Is suffer on there's a better world coming.
All we know,
But would rather not believe.
Believe.
Believe.
Believe.