Half-handed Cloud - Flea Market Temple lyrics

Made a house of prostitution Supposed to be a house of God It felt more like the flea market And not the home of Aaron's rod You can't see budding twigs when it's so dead in here And they will fear when they see God Himself among them Among them in the temple courtyard Thrashing all the people out With homemade whip the first occasion And three years later the second time He flipped the tables over on Pa**over