We are damned, and we are dead
all god's children to be sent
into our perfect place in the sun, in the dirt
There's a windshield in my heart
we are bugs so smeared and scarred
could you stop the meat from stinking, before i swallow all of it?
Could you please...
Put me in the motorcade
put me in the death parade
dress me up take me
dress me up and make me your dying god
Angels were needles, poked through our eyes
let the ugly light world in
we were no longer blind
we were no longer blind
Put me in the motorcade
put me in the death parade
dress me up take me
dress me up and make me your dying god
Now we hold the ugly head
the merry (???) is at the bed
cast a shadow of our perfect death
in the sun, in the dirt