age has made us bleak
always bow down
i am your golden
hypocritical saint
you are sad and frustrated
i am a figure
of all you trust
and i dissolve like rust
and here you can stand
or like me you can crumble

we are beings of earth
but we worship to the sky
i am skeleton
i look in god's eye
you won't know heaven
until you die
but you see by then
its too late to get high
the words you say softly
are the ones to live by
so starts the end
and the figure will cry
listen to Mrs. moon
she will teach you to lie
worship the earth
we don't live in the sky