The preachers from the pulpits of power leaders of cloth they preach to our empty pockets and the same gang with different colors plays up to the dialect of establishment Will you take our pain will you throw bread to us from high above? We will stay true to trust on these streets but I won't be corrupted or stuck on repeat The preachers from the pulpits of power leaders of cloth they preach to our empty pockets and the same gang with different colors plays up, raise up any flag we fly any war we buy it any war Will you take our pain and will you throw bread to us from high above? Will you take our pain? Will you throw bread to us from high above? We will stay true to trust on these streets but I won't be corrupted or stuck on repeat yet The workers' rage in the empire days The ratchet thrown in the children's mills the bootstrap lies in the Patriot Plays The burning fires on these hills this road grows The preachers from the pulpits of power leaders of cloth they preach to our empty pockets and the same gang with different colors plays up to the dialect of establishment Will you take our pain? Will you throw bread to us from high above?