Cities of the South (A. Kissel/B. Crouch) There’s a staging ground at Powderhead Planting tent posts in the loam Spewing waves stock full w/testament  To the wilderness of Rome Drop a twenty down for Pakistan  And a fifty for the Pope These eyes are raising woodsheds But my pockets packed with hope  They’s prophets riding car tops  ‘cross the cities of the South  Hoisting good news like a groundswell To the roof of every mouth That’s dripping with indulgences And it’s flooding every coast There’s a famine for salvation But hey, we’re churning out the loaves Til we’re all took up To watch the Fall Til we’re all took up To watch the Fall There’s this pit been dug for criminals From Georgia north to Maine And the time is nigh for their feet to slide Straight away to sacred pain On a Pale Horse  Spreading pestilence on primetime and in the streams The end is growing bigger So to hell with holy means	Cause old Matthew wrote about a sword  And there’re wicked men to smite In this mix of the meek and mighty God forbid we lose a fight There ain’t no Gospel word been wrote Gonna pull me from my throne God loves enough for the both of us So why don’t you pass an old man his stone Gotta good mind  to sit back count the loss Gotta a good mind To stand back  watch y'all burn Gotta a good mind  To rise up watch it pass But don’t you worry  I’m gonna rise up Strike it down For all your chaff I'll bring the fire For those who'd lead with their left hand The right hand be shown For those who'd corrupt an innocent I got your millstone