Jeroboam dreamed a golden dream
Of golden lands and golden things
And ivory-colored feathered wings

Voices in the honey breeze
Pushing on the honeybees
And shaping beds from fallen leaves

The Writer showed him all of these
And filled his nose with pretty things
And let him taste of Eden’s trees

But in the Light came a warring sound
Of greedy blood on Hallowed Ground
Jeroboam and his heavy eyes made a civil war inside
His tongue stuck stiff behind his teeth
His voice got tangled in his grief
And Jeroboam made a thief, Jeroboam made a thief

So the Writer penned him a different tale
Where proud get caught in homemade sails
And crave the jewels on the wedding veil

Jeroboam cried for more
Clutching at the temple torn
The Writer filled his hands with sores

So arm yourselves with empty hands
When looking at the Promised Land
And find yourself a wealthy man.