Mercy Makes its Rounds

I cry mercy for the whores and the sluggards

I cry mercy for the preachers to paupers

Precious mercy for the tie-wearing Senate

For all these bill and pills and sermons and these personal agendas

I cry mercy, Lord

Mercy Lord over me

I cry mercy in the darkest cells of our prisons

I cry mercy for the king atop his kingdom

Sweet flowing mercy for the praying or sleeping mothers

For all these thrills and frills and protesting yells and these calculated consumers

I cry mercy, Lord

Mercy Lord over me

If we all crash and burn, and we are all found out

If my secret wound's exposed, will You come and snuff me out

Hold onto me; I'm strained against the reigns

Hold onto me; Don't let this darkness take my name

Don't let it, Lord

Hold onto me; mothers hide your daughters

Hold onto me; My boy don't become your father

Don't let him, Lord