"The world is loaded, hope against hope
Ghost-sick for a god at the end of a rope"
Hide your habits littered with rot
They're wasting away and then falling apart
There's jesus-freaks that line up the town
Ghost-sick for a god but it won't make a sound
The emptiness that fills up the floor, soaking up the streets of unholy blood
"The dead are bored of lying in the dirt
Lying on their tax-returns and turning into earth"
"Empty grows in every bed"
"Who's fucked and who's fucking? It's the old in and out again"