The Crossroads of Election

Verse 1
Down on the edge of Babylon’s road,
A crowd of weary workers moaned,
With papers, deeds, and seals in hand,
They’d sold their souls to Caesar’s land.
Farmers, nurses, truckers, too,
Fishermen with nets they drew,
All crying o’er the years they’d spent
Serving Mammon’s government.

Chorus
At the crossroads of election, hear the trumpet cry,
Lay your burden down, let the debtor-body die.
Forsake the birth-named fiction, cast the bond aside,
And walk in grace eternal, where the living never die.

Verse 2
A salesman wiped his legal brow,
“I built my house on sand somehow.”
A teacher wept, “I taught their lies,”
A driver groaned, “My licence ties.”
They counted profit, loss, and wage,
All captive to the ledger’s cage,
Till one appeared with eyes aflame,
A cross within, not legal name.

Chorus
At the crossroads of election, hear the trumpet cry,
Lay your burden down, let the debtor-body die.
Forsake the birth-named fiction, cast the bond aside,
And walk in grace eternal, where the living never die.

Bridge
He placed a Bible in their hands,
A tissue for their false demands,
Said, “Mourn no more the paper ghost,
The state can’t save your soul, nor boast.
Repent the trust you gave to men,
Return to Him who breathes again,
The breath of life, the gift of peace,
Where debt and bondage cease.”

Verse 3
Some turned back toward the city’s flame,
Still clutching seals that bore their name,
But some knelt low and kissed the ground,
Their chains of fiction broken down.
From every trade, from every land,
They rose as one by grace’s hand,
Their titles burned, their ledgers torn,
And in the Spirit they were reborn.

Final Chorus
At the crossroads of election, the trumpet splits the sky,
The false man fades to ashes, the living learn to fly.
No longer bound to Mammon, no longer sold to lie,
They walk with Christ eternal—
Where the living never die.