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 windshield in my heart

we are bugs so smeared and scarred

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

poked through our eyes

let the ugly light

of the world in

we were no longer blind

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 the shadow of our perfect death

in the sun and in the dirt