Ever since Judas betrayed the Christ,
someone’s been yelling,
“Watch me stab the neighbor in the back.”
They bow down at the altar of money,
grin like vermin chasing gold.
Every friend has a price.
Deals sealed with handshakes,
sweat flows, fangs bite.
Someone always bleeds
behind the scenes.
They tread on our bones
for applause and nods.
To get ahead,
but for what?
We ain't stayin.
Gold drips from their grimy fingers.
Shame they can't wash off.
Just ask Lady Macbeth.
Transactions of degradation.
On to the next sucker.
Boots sticky with blood.
Every hand grabs,
every eye covets.
They lie flat, lie tall,
lie anywhere
to get the prize.
Nothing holy.
Nothing’s taken.
Everything descends
down the ladder
into the abyss.
They shuffle papers and wink,
kiss *****
laugh over the ashes of trust.
Call it ambition,
call it need.
No one blinks,
no one winces.
Do you smell the rust?
The moral bankruptcy
is brutal if you’re invested.
Every hand a money clip,
every word a check mark.
They smile like it’s currency.
And the silent rooms,
where friendship and laughter dwell,
collect the bodies of trust.