Joe Horton - Yes, God is a DJ; No, Not a Good One lyrics

[Hook-Guante and Joe Horton] Who do you trust in the blackness? I can feel this planet underneath my feet Revolving, it's all gone according to plan But whose plan? [Verse 1-Guante] I met the devil in the middle of the night Like a lover from another lifetime His eyes were sad and deep and dreaming Alone in a crowd, he pa**ed right by And last night I, experienced evil Faded and broken from blazin' the opiate of the people Third strike, I'm so gone Hold on, waist deep in the river with all my clothes on And I ain't sayin' there's no god Just sayin' it takes more than religion to know god No tears, my face is a sand storm And I've had a crash course in that force All we ask for is justice I've seen him fleein' the scene, one set of footprints runnin' So keep your faith; I'll keep on breathin' (she's watchin') I will always have something to believe in After everything I've seen it's hard to see coincidence I don't know who's listenin' I wanna stay away from the fire I'd talk to the lord, but I'm scared that he's wearin' a wire [Hook] [Verse 2-Joe Horton] Let's conquer the space between the Molotov co*ktail flame And the stone-faced revolutionary with the bad aim The landscape is bleedin', my palms are stained red Find another universe to leave for dead Leaves are soakin' in the wine, but it tastes alright Have another sip, it'll help to chase the nightmares Are scared of the dark in these parts So dance in the moonlight, hide from the morning star Born in the forks of the tongues Of the sins of the innocent twins One is wearin' a cloak and a cloven hoof The other is livin' proof that pretty things can have sinister wings too So walk like a predator rememberin' the steps of his last meal Pop the champagne, waste what you can't spill Pinch your skin, if you feel it then you know it's real Leave it in the dream where the steam rises off her, still [Hook] [Verse 3-Guante] (I got a story) for every action, you know the rest So consider this a warning, consider this mourning In America the proletariat is still snoring Street corners mirror the faces, lines forming Once upon a time there was a story Went to sleep at eighteen and woke up when he was forty No savings and he's not insured But he helped a corporation make a few cents more And as a young man, he helped a nation fight and win a war But he's getting more and more convinced, it was a sin So he sits quietly in the revival Wondering if god is the revolver hidden in the bible In the middle of a crisis He is living life like a missile in a silo Rusted and dusty But still capable of devouring a country Hungry people don't stay hungry They either die or they take a bite And one day he's gonna crack open And bleed sunshine through the fading night One day they will take his life... [Outro] Maybe not through d**h, but a simple push. A soft breaking. He will be lying in bed, or waiting to get on a bus and his hands will roll up like starving spiders; his lips will form a word, maybe a name. And he will push back We are all closer. We are all capable. We all have so much tumbling around inside of us, pushing against our skin, kicking at the weak points They forget. How much pressure is built up inside, how nobly we fight to hold it in, how easily we break