I wanna see your hands

Wrapped around my neck

If I am born of blood, it tastes like shame

What’s one more drink?

And so I wash it down

Pseudo-thoughtfuls think

In substance, I drown

What’s one more pill?

And so I swallow away

My Shepherd works the corner, and to a vice I pray

My crisis averted, when Christ was aborted

And now we’re all killers, sinners, guilty

Washed in the river, filthy

Gutters, Virgin Mothers, left me here to suffer

Bleak night

Blaspheme

Left in the trenches of mangers

When you were a child

Raised in the trenches, born in the trenches

Came from the trenches, and no, we’ll never get out

We had youth (we had you)

Until we washed ourselves

In the river

Take me

I’m fucking filthy

Oh, you try and save me

But I’m too guilty

Guilty of nothing