Born With Bells On

They love the crown, don't love the climb. Won't harvest fruit

with borrowed time. Pray for rain, curse muddy hands. Want promised land, won't work the

land. Every wish got a hurry clock. Every oath tied in a talking

box. If it feed the mouth, they call it fair.

If it causing blood, they don't care. Truth bend easy when pockets full.

Right feel holy when rules ain't cruel. We were born with bells on,

tied in line. Led by lights that ain't divine. Heads down low, eyes on glass.

Chewin' lies 'til the truth won't pass. Call it freedom, sell the key.