We provide the rich ones with joy
And they offer pain as a gift to us
While they stroll happily in their new cars
Hundreds of people are dying in hospital files

We plant - thay harvest
We work - they earn
We pray - they're heard

Cause the church is on their side
It's a burghers's association
That feeds itself on our death
And on our life of suffering

Cursed be all of you
Soon this triumph will escape from your hands
For He is coming
The fair horned god who was exiled from heaven

There is no amount of richness
That can subornate Him

And He will feast Himself
With the riches' flesh cause it's softer
And He'll inebriate Himself
With the riches' blood cause it's sweeter
And His dessert will be
The riches' souls eternally imprisoned into Him

We plant - thay harvest
We work - they earn
We pray - they're heard

The feast divine