Well the preacher from Sunday, will he love you come Monday? Will he turn up his nose to your work stained clothes? Will he sit on that pile of rising tithe? Will he cackle and laugh as you wriggle and writhe?

To see greed in the eyes of someone you trust. To see greed in the eyes of someone you trust.

Well your neighbor from Sunday, will he like you come Monday? Will he envy your life, or maybe covet your wife? Will he pray for your death and maybe wring you of breath? Maybe see you down to your eternal rest.

To see hate in the eyes of your only friend. To see hate the eyes of your only friend.

Well your family on Sunday, are they proud come Monday? Will they call you disloyal if you don't bend your knee? Are you rooted so deep into that family tree? Are you their faithful slave for eternity?

To see shame in the eyes of the ones you love. To see shame in the eyes of the ones you love.

With their pompous grin, they say you're tainted with sin. They say The Holy Gates won't ever let you in.

With a Bible in hand, you start to take a stand. Then you finally found out, that there's no room for doubt. So you tear up the roots of that family tree, then you string up the fruit for all the world to see.

Well your neighbor from Monday, will he make it to Sunday? Will he bleed like slab when you've taken your stab? Will he fall to dirt as he grips on your shirt? Will he slowly pass, as you carve your path?

Well, you lay eyes on the preacher as you burst through the door. He's always counting his cash, forever hungry for more. Is he ready to fly to the kingdom on high, or maybe fall down the pit where blazing fires are lit.

Well the lawman on Monday, says you're hanging on Sunday. And you sit there and laugh with eyes as vacant as glass. You turn the page of your book to give it one last look.

Then use your last breath pray on God's Holy day.