The Haves Have Naught

Just look at that shopkeeper peddling his wares
Shouting his sales pitch, but nobody cares
Don't you wonder what keeps him there day after day, begging for gold as his hair turns to gray?
Blindly they're bounding apace; starving for mercy in a merciless place
Only a fool would make martyrs from heathens
And find them so lively when they're barely breathing
Just barely breathing...
Just look at that toy maker grinding his gears
Turning no profit but he doesn't care
He keeps smiles on faces and, day after day, the children keep sadness and suffering at bay
Blissfully bounding apace; searching for mercy in a merciless place
Only a monster makes fodder from saints
And finds them so worthless when they're full of grace
So full of grace...
But what better use of hookers and thieves
Than greasing the wheels of perfect machines that hum into life a harmony of industry
But what is the use of cutting them down; to smother and choke the soul of our town?
I know there is another way...
But what is so wrong with giving them purpose?
(Just how could you weed them out?)
(Degrading them without doubt)
A man like yourself could give worth to the worthless
(You're bleeding them dry)
(They live and die like you and I...)
Without the guidance of rulers and tyrants
(...and under your guidance; the hands of a tyrant...)
These people will just tear themselves apart
(They'll just tear themselves apart)
Just look at that charlatan steeped in deceit
A threat to the young; to the old and the meek
Don't you wonder what made him so vicious, so sick
So far out of balance; so cruel and so callous; so married to malice?