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 Passover