|
Death, she must have been your will |
|
A bone beneath the reaper's veil |
|
With your voice my belly sunk |
|
And I began to feel so drunk |
|
Candle, candle, on my clock |
|
Oh Lord, I must have heard you knock me out of bed |
|
As the flames licked my head |
|
And my lungs filled up black in their tiny little shack |
|
It was real and I repent |
|
All those messages you sent, clear as day, but in the night |
|
Oh, I couldn't get it right |
|
Here is a church and here is a steeple |
|
Open the doors there are the people |
|
And all their little hearts at ease |
|
For another week's disease |
|
And eagle, eagle, towel, and scream |
|
I never once left in between |
|
I was on the fence and I never wanted your two cents |
|
Down my throat, in the pit, with my head upon the spit |
|
Oh Reverend, please, can I chew your ear? |
|
I have become what I most fear |
|
And I know there's no such thing as ghosts |
|
But I have seen the demon host |
