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Song Info
Genre
Author
Vanida Plamondon (AI Assisted)
Rights
Vanida Plamondon
Uploaded
November 05, 2025
Track Files
MP3
MP3 13.7 MB • 320 kbps • 6:00
Lossless
WAV 65.9 MB
Lyrics
Verse 1
They built their peace with trembling hands,
on the backs of those who never healed.
They sing of mercy in marble halls,
while silence rots beneath the pews.
A choir of polished lies in harmony,
each note a prayer for their own reflection.
They raise their candles to the light,
but the wax was bought with blood.
Bridge 1
How can goodness live here,
in a house built on omission?
How can grace still breathe,
when repentance is rehearsed?
Every sermon drips with virtue,
every face rehearsed for awe.
But the more they praise themselves,
the quieter the truth becomes.
Refrain
This is the hypocrisy of virtue,
the costume stitched from borrowed pain.
This is holiness in mirrors,
where conviction wears foundation.
They call it peace,
but I can hear the bones beneath the choir.
Verse 2
There’s a cross of gold on every street,
and a beggar bleeding beneath its glow.
They pass him by with folded hands,
murmuring grace while clutching pearls.
The holy speak of love,
but never to the unwashed.
They draw their lines in sacred ink,
then drown the world in judgment.
Bridge 2
Virtue has an audience now,
it streams in high definition.
Compassion comes with a caption,
goodness must trend to exist.
They say, “Do good,
but mean, “Be seen.
They say, “Be kind,
but mean, “Be photographed.
Chorus
Tell me,
how can goodness survive
when morality is a mask sold by the powerful?
How can we speak of love
while stepping over the fallen
to reach the altar first?
How do we pray
when the holy words taste of ash and pride?
Verse 3
I saw a saint on television
bless the poor with empty hands.
He wept on cue for the cameras,
then went home to a palace of mirrors.
Every sinner is useful,
every wound a stage.
Their peace is built from pity,
their faith from fear of falling.
Refrain
This is the hypocrisy of virtue,
a sermon sewn in silk and greed.
The pious wear the pain of others
as medals of their humility.
They say redemption is a gift,
but charge admission at the door.
Bridge 3
There was a time when goodness
meant getting your hands dirty.
When compassion didn’t need witnesses,
and faith didn’t crave applause.
Now the saints sell sanctity in packages,
the prophets sign contracts,
and the meek
are told to monetize their suffering.
Verse 4
I want to ask them,
if their heaven is so full of love,
why are there so many locked gates?
If peace is real,
why is it fenced with fear?
If holiness is truth,
why does it tremble before the poor?
Maybe the divine left long ago,
tired of being used as decoration.
Chorus
How can goodness live in a house of marble lies?
How can love still bloom
when watered by the tears of the unseen?
They call it virtue,
but I see vanity.
They call it holiness,
but I see hunger dressed in gold.
And the bones beneath the choir still sing,
softly, beautifully, truthfully.
Outro
Listen
under the organs, under the hymns,
beneath the gilded ceilings and empty praise,
the bones are still singing.
They sing of what we lost
when we traded conviction for costume,
and mercy for mirrors.
They sing of what goodness was
before it became performance.
And I wonder,
if the divine still listens,
or if it too has turned away,
ashamed
of what we’ve done in its name.
