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​Dead Air At The Pulpit

This song is by Cursed and appears on the album III: Architects Of Troubled Sleep (2008).

Good night, hard right
Sleep tight Father
It's lights out for you, lights out at the altar
And all the lights in TV Land
Where'd you get those pearly gates? How'd you get them here? Face that launched a thousand cheques
Convincing zealot, who's up next? You better pray
They want what you want, they want it all
They want insurance for their godforsaken souls
They want an alibi, protection from all-seeing eyes
Expensive superstition but it keeps them warm at night
You're preaching to the retarded, what are they gonna do? Who are these half-dead faithful gonna send their paycheques to? Oh God, send me a sign - 'cause there's dead air at the pulpit
Struck down
Struck down on it
Taken, children, taken
So off you go to God
A real live human being need this bed
Real live human beings gonna need these respirators when all the TV holy men are dead
Congregation, eyes skyward to Heaven while holy old white hands reach deep into their pockets for a taste of the Old Time Gospel Hour