His Words are cheap, of tin (not gold)
Or plastic, scarred...replete with mold.
I hear their sound like buzzing fly.
I listen not, because they lie.
His Words are cheap. They sound humane,
But drip with scorn and leave a stain.
They taste of bitter, rancid gall.
I'm tempted not by one...at all.
I know this much, his words are cheap.
You'll find them in the rubbish heap.
They rot out quickly on the vine
And never stand the test the time.
His words are cheap. They fall apart.
Leave shards like glass that pierce the heart.
They glitter sweet with hidden sin.
They knock, but I won't let them in.
His words are cheap. That much is true.
Don't let them make a fool of you.
I say once more, his words are cheap.
He's just a rotten, low-down creep.