By a pass obscure and lonely
Haunted by ill angles only
Leads into the following ring
Who Plutus was the cruel king

Their voices bark this truth out clearly
When they come the two points nearly
Shall rise from their graves up slowly
With closely fists and shaven heads

Why do you hoard?
Why do you splurge?
What is the price?
What is the urge?
When do you pray?
When do you purge?
There's nothing left
But tears at last

And all the gold beneath the moon
Can bring no rest to their swoon
To a any of these sickness souls
The fortune only changes holds

Forever failure, branded, lost unholy
They will come to double butt
Shall rise from their graves up slowly
With closely fists and shaven heads

These the clergy who've no crown of hair
ON their heads, both popes and cardinals
Within whom avarice runs to extreme air
In life like hell unfaithful pals

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