Do you feel alive now - now that you own the dead?
Preying on their corpses - their hearts no longer fed.

Your sainthood is obvious on every starving face. Your deception gives us a way to seperate the poor from their hate, the rich from the stone, genuflect away the sins that we’ve known.
Sure one percent rules, but heaven’s made of gold. So chalk it up to folly and consequence alone.

Do we really want, do we really need a bastard massiah?
Wrapped up in the dream of patriotic clean white washed desire

And every time the real war’s defined - the trenches are filled to hide battle lines.
Torches to bridges and bridges to torture headlines distort what we see as our borders, and what gives us the right to feel with remorse for a God they created a God for the poor.

For bathory we’re bleeding out, the devil hides in angelic shrouds.
Blasphemy as speaking out, we’ve asked for it, for more of the same sad scheme of ghettos created by the power elite.
For our minds and souls burning no longer for freedom invoked.

Just more of the same