Dear Hunter Filth And Squalor
Somewhere there's a choice being made,
from the mass by the will of a broken field,
guided by the hand of the guilty,
praised as a cure for a curse,
really this is all catastrophic,
and we're tethered to the hull of a sinking ship,
thrashing for a breath at the surface,
praying for the ropes to slip,
I always knew that the damned would inherit the earth,
as soon as they learned to speak,
we would be suffering,
sucking on the scraps of a wicked well,
we were bound by need,
to vicious villainy.
Tear it down, start again,
Wishing every trace to stale scars can mend,
then they will sing,
the way things used to be,
the way things used to be,
the way things used to be,
I always thought that the damned would inherit the
earth,
as soon as they learned to speak,
we would be suffering,
sucking on the scraps of a wicked well,
we were bound by need,
to vicious villainy.
Tear it down, start again.
I always knew that the damned would inherit the earth,
as soon as they learned to speak,
we would be suffering.
Choking on the scraps of a wicked well,
we were bound by need,
to vicious villainy.
I always knew that the damned would inherit the earth,
as soon as they learned to breathe,
we would be suffering.
Sucking on the scraps of a wicked well,
We were bound by need,
to vicious villainy.
Tear it down, start again.
