The Holy Man of Iron City

We post to prove we are alive
A pulse that thinks and feels and thrives
With waves unseen from TV screens
Depression under power lines
Iron city’s blacksmith lies
Between the peaks and in due time
We know we’re doomed
A black cloud is blooming
Through cover ups and stained glass lies
The city rises higher, higher towards the sky, towards the light
And sugar creek is overflown
Its substance shows it’s lacking anything worth fighting for
No purpose for a war
Worship pills and your purpose is your profit
Worship bills and smoke
Disease is for the poor
Famine, flood, and so much more
Disease is for the poor
Famine, drugs, and urban wars
Stay away from our sight
From our ears and from our mind
Disease is for the poor
Famine, flood, and so much more