That burning feeling
Red liquids, clear liquids
Blessed are the sick
Children shiver in the river
Where is our God now?
Does he watch over all in El Segundo?
He don't lie when he say, "under"
I'm wasting away
I find time to pine when pining away my time
Within sin, with no redemption
We will find our souls
And the shells they're kept in all wasted away
Blessed are the sick in me
The prey, the thrill, the chill
And we are martyrs that crumble on time
Predestination
We'll stop upon dimes
And he constructed us all in El Segundo
As the shivering children prayed
Demons in, demons out
Cry for dawn
Gratis
Bored
I'm the matador of the children's ward
Beggars wed choosers
Red sheets, bed sheets
Boozers
I'm the head fan
Blessed be my bed pan
It's a cold-, having-just-been mugged feeling
In the sun, I've got this for you
It's under my fingernails
I brought this for you
It's typically Sunday
I'm digging a hole
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