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Lord Have MRSA on My Soul
Dreamwell
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What good are wings if I must use them to hide my eyes?
My many mouths are lined with iron nails and blood and spite
And I let my feet step plainly on the mire
I need no protection from a breathing world
My spine's too bent to bear the rood
My soul's too pure to be clean
My spine's too bent to bear the rood
My soul is, my soul is, my soul is
My soul is fucked up and inglorious
Adam was a boar who died
Full with the blood of a menstruating earth on his maw
Ten crowns fashioned from our shattered skulls
We've lost more blood than ever stained your cross
The older the wood, the faster the rage of the spark
I will eat whatever remains
I will eat whatever the flames don't
I will eat whatever remains
I will eat whatever the flames don't
If I'm to stay in the light
You are my sworn enemy
Your god will judge you unclean
Your god will judge you unclean, oh
Your god will judge you unclean
Your god will judge you unclean
Your god will judge you unclean
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