There's guilt when you have paid
More when you haven't
There's a soul reckoning in the priesthood of collectors
Thank you, mother mary, you absolved sin
When you took my dollars

Confess to the papal treasury: take scratch with your scotch
Matched stacks swear: evil has no home in this heart
The moneyless must go to the far below
Where fires cannot scorch that crucial tender

Disbarred for gain refusals
To be passed through, a temporary stopover 
Is to be as the lord of all creation

Seven days and a paycheck
Tithed out to forgo
Ninety percent of a soul

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