The Preacher

you say you want to teach me
and heal my broken foot
you promise life eternal
if my faith in God I put

but all I hear you speak of
in your accent from the South
is your desire for great riches
spittle spraying from your mouth

I am told that God will bless me
if I follow what you say
and support your "gospel" preaching
(a foundation made of clay)

you live a life of pleasure
private jet planes in the sky
five meals a day and leisure
the poor ignored as you walk by

you're the last hope for the desperate
and they'll give you all they have
but I can see right through your lies
discerning wheat from chaff