Paul!

Lang
Dear Televangelist
A.K.A I'd have to be batty to go out with you

What does it profit a man if he

lines his pockets with bills
and yet forfeits his own soul?
He is an ineffectual seer
third eye blind
spouting off at Midas
In that country they use phone lines
like sonar, and gather to populate above
our heads in a million pieces
With a million leather wings flapping
In the breeze
The sound of coins jingling
The brotherhood of man
Holding hands to make change
And I knew all this time I was an
insurance policy. But a sound check
speaks volumes above the noise
lift your eyes and watch me bounce
Your policy has expired
Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar's, and to God the things that are God's.