Chasin' down the demons in a getaway car, stitching an exit woundnThey've been lost here for a couple of milesnCasting all their shadows on religious retreats, planning to spend the nightnThey'll be dead here in a matter of hoursnnAs your shoulders turn on you, you're left with nothing but a spinennAnd how we dance! And how we sing!nThey just stop and stare and stop and start the fuckin' riot.nAn hour has passed, an hour to gonThey just stutter speech and speak to spare the new messiahnnChasin' down the angels in their holiday suits demanding enlightenmentnIt won't be found here - heaven's closed for repairsnThe bible tells it stories with a fancy facade, its message cannot comparenI would rather write my own rulebooknnAs a poet in contempt, I hold myself responsible for all the actionsnI have taken in my time here on this earthnAnd all the victims in disguise are held accountable as suchnInstead of fighting their own fate and crossing paths with the judgenBecause if Jesus taught you everything then nothing's what you've learnednYou could build islands with those hands but they're rejecting what they've earnednAnd if Jesus told you anything then nothing's what you heardnYour ears both form opinions while your mouth changes the words