Fruitless as the days are patient

There's nothing left to do but laugh

In the absence of some holy immolation

I can't help feel godly wrath

I'm holding out for godliness or something

But nothing ever comes, nothing ever feels right

Hope for divine intervention

Nothing intervenes but you

So I want you to be the death of me

I've never been so sure of anything

Holding for a total dissolution

But everyone carries on wearing their seatbelts

I'm holding for apocalyptic trumpеts

But it's crickets all the time, maybе it's a punchline

I want you to be the death of me

I've never been so sure of anything