This is a problemnThere is no solutionnFor all the retiring typesnTheir voices all whispering deathnThere's no solution for themnnAnd this is a processnThe process that we follownAnnihilates all of the doubtnWith peace and with force and with fearnAs night draws nearnnWe hold grudgesnWe are savednWe light candlesnIn the darknnAnd something tonight starts a fire in menAs the alcohol burnsnAnd the air is sugar-freenTonight God is angrynWe can roll with the punchesnnI hope that you'll hurrynWith the blood of the childnWith the pierced bodynOf the son of the richnTonight God is angrynWe can roll with the punchesnnTonight God is angrynWe can't help ourselvesnWhen we hold grudgesnWe are savednWe strike matchesnIn the darkn