| There’s a thorn in my side
|
| On a spastic two-headed dragon I ride
|
| In the wind, on a night
|
| I choke on the smoke of the church that I light
|
| I hear the call, I carry sin
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| To the house of the holy one within
|
| I empty cans, I flick my light
|
| Burn myself in the church tonight
|
| There’s a curse on the wind
|
| Shit on the liver again
|
| Scream, die
|
| My death and my funeral combined
|
| Born of the wisdom of the ancient ghosts
|
| The blood of the goat and the chalice we toast
|
| To the win and the sin, unholy Odin
|
| There’s a place where the old souls gather to boast
|
| Of the thrill, and the spill
|
| And the victims that they kill
|
| If they die in the fields
|
| Then they die at our will
|
| Corpse in the church
|
| The priest and the mourners evoked
|
| In the old, cold morning light
|
| I choke on the smoke of the church that I light
|
| There’s a curse on the wind
|
| Shit on the liver again
|
| Scream, die
|
| My death and my funeral combined |