Not the Cross

The gold, not the cross, is what defines your religion
And Christ has no part in your worldly addictions

The Bible's pages broken down into pieces and bits
Remolded to form the scripture of capitalists
The salvation meant to free the poor from their sins
Now the domain of intimidating, middle class individualists

The measure of godliness now the counting of blessings
The poor disregarded while we accumulate things
In our vain pursuits, our god is nothing less than money
The words of life twisted like adverts for economic commodity

I pity the man who walks into our walls
With nothing to offer, or anything at all
Yearning, groping for the Bread of life
Whilst imposing on our comfortable, self-imposed rights

The man who had no place to lay His head
Now the King of the rich and spiritually dead
He who fed thousands with bread and fish
somehow left a way for His flock to be selfish?

Hypocrites! How will we save others from Hell
when there is no love even amongst ourselves?
Where were you when I was naked and hungry?
Nowhere! I know you not, be gone from Me!
Will He look into our lives and see only imperialist greed?
Who pursue an American Dream in subtle idolatry

"He became poor, that we might be rich"
All we need is bad hermeneutics to become elitist heretics
Not knowing that we will never truly glorify Christ
If His death is our bet to be rich in this life