The Meek
from Bedroom Demo #192
Words and Music by Terry Scott Taylor
©2020 Shape of Air Music
You cannot hear my silence
Through the roar of your screed
You dream of bended knees on the floor
You wanna watch them bleed
There seems to be no entry point
To the world of your good graces,
Except to strap ourselves to the chair
Of your electric pages
Who are the last, who are the first?
Who will inherit the earth?
The meek, the meek, the meek, the meek
Laughs all around; they're so weak
The meek, the meek, the meek, the meek
The vote is in: their future's bleak
Campaigning for your own existence,
The need to be seen
Love takes effort, hatred comes easy,
Just throw it up on your screen
In thrall to your own momentum,
A feast on the power
Of self-righteous indignation
Watch the idiots cower
Who are the blessed, who are the cursed?
Who will inherit the earth?
The meek, the meek, the meek, the meek,
These fools that turn the other cheek
The meek, the meek, the meek, the meek,
Their kind are easy to defeat
You're like a history book I've closed
And put back on the shelf
It's not likely I'll read you again
Unless you're someone else
Gone is my mental squint
That tried to form a different picture
It's clear now, you're a loaded gun
And an itchy trigger finger
Who are the best, who are the worst?
Who will inherit the earth?
The meek, the meek, the meek, the meek
What's this foreign language that they speak?
The meek, the meek, the meek, the meek
A two thousand plus year losing streak
The meek, the meek, the meek, the meek
The meek, the meek, the meek, the meek
