Made Into A Liar

Burning with broken backs are the pretty and the sweet,
Searching for gold in the sky.
They know that from richest black comes brilliant white.
Sunday comes as judge, jury, lock and key,
For the men who kneel to be free.

Turning like broken cogs are the damaged and the vain,
The fetish varies but the symptoms the same.
They know that from thickest black comes heavenly light.
Friday comes as painless as ecstasy,
For the men who crawl on their knees.