The undead rise and claim copyright
The howl of wolves echo through the night
The infantry has all turned back
The priest and the diocese are under attack
We know no grace, we have no souls
We sing of sugar, hymn of the sword
The serpent's tail is now uncoiled
We raise a toast to the end of the world
(I'm still waiting..)
So lift your glass and hold your chin up for this terrible world
Atlanta, you should have known by now
That death was always going to win somehow
So lift your glass and hold your chin up for this terrible world
The windows break and the spectres moan
As the devil takes a seat upon the golden dome
Thinking all this time we should have known
Judgement is on its way down to Ponce de Leon
Seven echoes through the doors of city hall
Seven seraphs write the will of god on the walls
And this rhythm in me? Baby, cast it out.
Gather pigs for the lake and tell them all to drown.
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