We are damned, we are dead
All God's children to be sent
Into our perfect place, in the sun
In the depth(?)
There's a windshield in my heart
We are bugs so smeared and scared
Could you stop the meat from .....
Before I swallow all of it
Could you please
Put me in the motorcade
Put me in the death parade
Dress me up and take me
Dress me up and make me your dying God
Angel's needles poke through our eyes
Looked through the ugly light the world in
We were no longer bright
We were no longer blind
Put me in the motorcade
Put me in the death parade
Dress me up and take me
Dress me up and make me your dying God
No one holds the oakly(?) head
The mirror you hold is at the bed
It casts a shadow over perfect death
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