The hybrid sons of fallen angels want their jacket back

You should take the patches off

Except the one that unironically proclaims

The vast

Superiority in its class

Of the H&K SP5 to the Tec

It only gets a little clunky put to melody and rhythm and idle threat

I read the Book of Enoch

And the Book of Giants

It made me an accessory after the fact

And on the drive to the state line I was followed by the sons of god with pistols in their Hands

And the sheets of southern rain

Hung up like redoubt walls

Halting invaders in their tracks

Drag me up someday

If only to establish

A terminus ante quem

Because the word was made flesh and the flood's gonna come

The word was made flesh and the flood's gonna come

Yeah the flood's gonna come

Basilides said it was always Simon of Cyrene

With a stone in his shoe

With the splinters in his back

And here the story gets fragmented and a few pieces come up missing

Gabriel had knuckle dusters

Istrael, he had a bat

And by the time the Roman legion had our hands out on the hood

Christ was halfway to the city and he was dragging his tracks

And I don't think he's ever coming back

Drag me up someday

If only to establish

A terminus ante quem

Because the word was made flesh and the flood's gonna come

The word was made flesh and the flood's gonna come

Yeah the flood's gonna come