The resounding noise in my head pounds out wicked rhythms on a heathen's drums
Unholy ghosts ******* holes in the hallowed curtains of history
As I burn the images into my wrist
Detailing a hieroglyphic history of chemical dependency & psychopathic tendencies, of which I've got a few
In my fevered dreams I put a gun to the head of all the filthy parishioners in their their pews
And they've all got my ******* face
Am I actively plotting to ****** my own faith?
Or is the devil's choir singing to me
Moaning joyous hymns sweet and slow?
I will not have it
I will not sit here and be stabbed in the ears by any more serrated symphonies
If salvation is what I need I'll make it my own ******* self
All the angel-faced harlots & devil-headed preachers in the world couldn't wage a winning war for my sick sad soul anymore
I'm not the devil & I'm not God I am something else entirely
I'm a revolutionary revolver with six shells saved for the Son of God
And I'll fire blindly out into the universe
Blowing holes in the inconceivable unknown
Until Someone asks me to stop
Or I run out of bullets