They're sitting pretty on top of the hill
Clad in their suits and ties
Dressed for the kill
While not all are wretched as whispers imply
They all play the game with a blood sacrifice

But is that the rising sun
Come breaching through to wake us up
To the veil over our eyes
To our moral appetite

There's blood in the paper every day
The flag's been unraveled in every which way
If money is paper, then what are our words
We've spent all our patience
And still are not heard

But is that the rising sun
Come breaching through to wake us up
To the veil over our eyes
To our moral appetite

So are we waking up
Have we waited long enough
For our voices are the blood
In this country that we love