March 2009
You tell me you like the taste You just need an excuse You tell me it calms your nerves You just think it looks cool You tell me you want to be different You just change for the same You tell me that
Arms held out In your Jesus Christ pose Thorns and shroud Like it's the coming of the Lord And you swear to me you don't want to be my slave But you're staring at me Like I need to be saved
The accumulated filth of all their sex and murder will foam up about their waists and all the whores and politicians will look up and shout "Save Us!"......and I'll look down, and whisper, "No".  
Visa toppen
Show footer