Beggars, thieves and lifes downtrodden Come to me as the king of the damned They hang their actions on my blackened outlook They take their lives by the slight of my hand They bought a ticket to the gates of heaven But all the saints see them coming and they run
No chance or reason No hope at all, No slight return to grace, but a long, long way to fall As sorry sign of weakness A silly game to play A sad songs of what becomes of the souls on judgement day
Dead eyes to find you No tales to tell Been lost so long I learn to hunt by sense of smell Old hands are broken Old veins are torn Cos' we're all dying from the day that we are born
We're trying, we're torn We're dying from the day that we're born We're trying, we're torn We're dying from the day that we're born
Can't save from sickness Can't raise the dead Can't make a deal with something that's only in your head My spirit's broken My soul is torn Cos' we're all dying from the day that we are born
We're trying, we're torn We're dying from the day that we're born We're trying, we're torn We're dying from the day that we're bornTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
