Gullible gluttony Consumes the evolution while peddling, Bartering unending supplies of lies And the all-knowing moron Feeding gladly on the farce That’s all essentially just make-believe of man
Saintified – A vile cancer infecting the whole And the cure is the poison that’s free to the soul! Slick as sin – sweet suicide Now that it’s time to revive the contemplating of patricide
Yet again – another one dead Found headlong in the rectory The sick and old are the last to know And always first to go Is there no one here to claim the price Of a septic death of own device? When one simple silver coin would suffice
Now what if you were already dead? Not born from nothing to the inbred line of your ilk In rhyme and reason never torn, bereft of wit and scorned Patriarch of the damned
…Now there’s a demon in the midst How dear its’ death would be to me And to all of the human breed
But Ha! No… It begs me for just another dime Another silver coin for everlasting afterlife That so in the event of war Raging from shore to shore My soul thanks to your wealth Is to be safely cured
The book of old First come first serve in the pyre of a virgin birth
Now to pay your dues, to pay your toll For living in this hole of a home Where to weigh the weight of your soul Is but to carry the weight on own Man’s defeat alone Here in Rome wrinkled old gnomes Carve their way thru moldy old tomes
And now to bury the bone First come first serve in the pyre of unholy worth
And so you squabble in your church Keep asking God to be the first To turn the other cheek To practice what you preach You’re bound by crimes to canonize the wise
When born never having a choice in life A nude dude on a cross seems nice Seems better in the dark and the cold And when you seek to atone for growing old
One thousand years will pass you by I promise you will still be dead rotting in the ground But skin and bones, with our without God
So true ignorance is bliss It seems to cut and never miss When the flesh is mushy and the skin is thin It cuts deeper to pull you in
So… what about to plug the “but” And store some feces for the lot See you’re the best at own behest A crude malignant carven cyst None here will wield the rod? None here will stand and walk the walk A Golgotha for all, when barking mad I precede the fallTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.