We knew them as rainmakers
in days that have long passed
Now they claim to be enlightened
from this incarnation they're  cast


They come from out of the woodwork
these prophets of the Lord
Claiming to be God's right hand man
here just to give you your reward


The story is always the same
bring your souls and your means
Grow a ladder to the heavens
by planting a few magic beans


Please forgive me the resemblance
with the child's tale long told
Perhaps they've been around as long
as the prophecies they've foretold


So the next time someone tells you
that they know the Lord's will
Feel the cold winds whistling by
it's their conscience that gives you chill


We see each and every time
demons never appear
And all the predictions they made
were built on nothing more than fear


They don't know anymore than you
how to ease your life's pain
Nor do they know why the winds blow
or how to make the skies rain



Tate