The Priests of the Golden Bull

Who brought the bomb wrapped up in business cards

And stained with steak?

Who hires a maid to wash his money?

Who keeps politicians on the take?

Who puts outspoken third-worlders in jail

Just to shut them down?

Oh the lies vary from place to place but the truth is still the same,

Even in this town

Money junkies all over the world

Trample us on their way to the bank

They run in every race

Windego

Third-worlders see it first:

The dynamite, the dozers, the cancer and the acid rain

The corporate caterpillars come into our backyards

And turn the world to pocket change

Reservations are the nuclear frontline;

Uranium poisoning kills

We're starving in a handful of gluttons

We're drowning in their gravy spills

Their tongues are silver forks

There's a lack of wisdom,

You can hear it on their breath

Windego

It's delicate confronting these priests of the golden bull

They preach from the pulpit of the bottom line

Their minds rustle with million dollar bills

You say Silver burns a hole in your pocket

And Gold burns a hole in your soul

Well, uranium burns a hole in forever

It just gets out of control

There was a crooked man who walked a crooked mile

He raised a crooked sixpence to hide a crooked style

He won a crooked vote and smiled a crooked smile

Windego

Their tongues are silver forks

There's a lack of wisdom,

You can hear it on their breath

Windego