By slight of hand we are mocked
The shopkeeper and the mason,
The politician with dalliance
Duped the native country's son.
Rich man poor man are the same
There is no difference in skin,
Nor the garments worn openly
Never will it cover over sin.
They will be taken to the prison
From the stone yard to the grave,
Proud men both in class and stock
Still they shall succumb a slave.
When bones are turned into the earth
And covered scarcely from the sun,
There to testify of deception's curse,
Or when the slight of hand is done.
Somehow a sacred law is laid to rest;
A monument erected on the backs of men,
Then from the annuls of ages past
The evidence is brought to light again.
What sins occur are often hidden deep,
Yet rise when those who made them die,
Forged when good men fall to sleep,
And wake to late to see the orphaned cry.