"The world is loaded, hope against hope Ghost-sick for a god at the end of a rope" Hide your habits littered with rot They're wasting away and then falling apart There's jesus-freaks that line up the town Ghost-sick for a god but it won't make a sound The emptiness that fills up the floor, soaking up the streets of unholy blood "The dead are bored of lying in the dirt Lying on their tax-returns and turning into earth" "Empty grows in every bed" "Who's fucked and who's fucking? It's the old in and out again"
