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Saturday I could feet the crowd's dismay |
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They've acquired quite a fire to burn the profane on a funeral pyre |
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Voices shrill cutting silence like they mean to kill |
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Some pep rally where we scream |
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His name like |
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God was loosing in a football game [Chorus:] |
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I don't want to waste |
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His name this time |
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I will never cast |
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Him to the swine (Grasping at some feeling you once knew is nothing sacred ever safe with you?) |
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Silver tongues all the spirit of an iron lung |
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Selling highs as if we needed one |
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Flash the lights so not be outdone |
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Counterfeit wanting joy so much we take a hit like a tapeworm deep in hunger digs |
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Waste the sacred just to feed these pigs |
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If this is real, then you must find it between the space of grace and grim |
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It's nothing you can manufacture your walls cannot contain |
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Him |
