Maxims
I Am Committing A Sin
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Collect yourself as I break you down
And pull the thorns from your crown
Once a pacifist's maxim - he who dared not to fight
Became a Coulter-crusade marched with his head on a pike
Climbing brothers and sisters
In hopes that the milk "trickles down"
To every skeptic selling sins to count on rosary beads
Every indulgence that the well fed and the pious feed:
Under a cloud on earth to stand on one in rebirth?
Bolted to wood it's understood he's got no hands on me
Flaunting empty graves and morals
Grew a nation from cesspit crawling up for the light
To every skeptic selling sins to count on rosary beads
Every indulgence that the well fed and the pious feed:
Under a cloud on earth to stand on one in rebirth?
Bolted to wood it's understood he's got no hands on me
Inspiring hope we are betrothed to a chthonic ring
Inspiring hope
To every skeptic selling sins to count on rosary beads
Every indulgence that the well fed and the pious feed:
Under a cloud on earth to stand on one in rebirth?
Bolted to wood it's understood he's got no hands on me