We are damned and we are dead
all god's children to be sent
to our perfect place in the sun
and in the dirt
there's a windshild in my heart
we are bugs so smeared and scared
and could you stop the meat from thinking
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
angels with needles
poke through our eyes
and let the ugly light
of the world in
and we were no longer blind
and 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
now we hold the "ugly head"
the Mary-whore is at the bed
they've cast a shadow of our perfect death
In the sun in the dirt.
