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I wanna see your hands, wrapped around my neck.
If I am born of blood, it tastes like shame
What's one more drink?
And so I wash it down
Pseudo thoughtfuls think
In substance I drown
What's one more pill?
And so I swallow away
My Shepherd works the corner, and to a vice I pray
My crisis averted, when Christ was aborted
And now we're all killers, sinners, guilty
Washed in the river โ filthy
Gutters, Virgin Mothers โ left me here to suffer
Bleak night
Blaspheme
Left in the trenches of mangers when you were a child
Raised in the trenches, born in the trenches, came from the trenches and no, we'll never
Get out
We had youth (we had you)
Until we washed ourselves โ
In the river
Take me
I'm fucking filthy
Oh you try and save me
But I'm too guilty
Guilty of nothing