| The world is burned, it never hurts
|
| shanks round the bend when you’re foaming at the binge
|
| On your serrated edge, you’re like a snail that sticks
|
| The hiss I make is warning to the scoundrel
|
| When you walk the plank, tell me what you see
|
| Moloch in the time of mutiny
|
| When you walk the plank, tell me what you see
|
| Moloch in the time of mutiny
|
| When the body wants to fix this frame
|
| the guilty presence starts to villicate
|
| Fall into the strangle, skip around the neck
|
| this albatross is warning with extreme prejudice
|
| When you walk the plank, tell me what you see
|
| Moloch in the time of mutiny
|
| When you walk the plank, tell me what you see
|
| Moloch in the time of mutiny
|
| When you walk the plank, tell me what you see
|
| Moloch in the time of mutiny
|
| When you walk the plank, tell me what you see
|
| Moloch in the time of mutiny
|
| Half of the time
|
| I’m never clean
|
| Filth of my filth
|
| can’t get no relief
|
| Half of the time
|
| I see the weak
|
| Don’t roll your eyes
|
| and still you can’t see
|
| All of my coins
|
| you’ve taken and gave
|
| Filled 'til you’re bawling
|
| and still you’re empty
|
| What’s that satchel of numbers doing?
|
| Can’t my fingers tell extinction? |