We walked out of the garden but none of us the wiser
With just the sickly aftertaste of too ripe apple cider
And then there we were all full of words but an echo deep inside us

We were free but we were lost for fear of scarcity and yearning
For everything we’ll never reach of false desires burning
And all the things we’ve never had is proof we’re undeserving

They’ll burn the world for money
They’ll privatise the air
Their mercenaries know the drill
They know that nothing’s fair

The roads are full of pilgrims looking for an open hand 
In the well armed place of plenty, the money changers plan
You can only cross the border if you sign over your land

And the border guards feel pious as they unlock all the chains
The wealthy make a promise that there’ll be a fair exchange 
We’ll give you shelter/baubles give you work if you agree not to complain