Lift high, your brazen calfnPraise him, for we are helplessnEvery night you serve two masters,nYour hands are blisterednHow long till we see you for what you really are?nnRemove the masknYour face is dirtynNo prayers are ever gonna save younYou're on your own nownWhy did you turn on us when we needed you the most?nYou bound our outstretched hands and severed them at jointnSo how are we to forgive and forget when I can taste the lust on your breathnnYou're pathetic and it makes me sicknSick to my stomach, to be in love with a cancernnEvery night you'd sell us out for the minute of sanitynTo fly high above the treesnYet you never made it off the groundnYou make me sicknGet off your kneesnThat look is getting old, even for younI refuse to be your crutch anymore.