Preacher

Duration

3:59

Lyrics

We forget when the wars begin. And why we fight. And who we do and do not like. The ether of the spider’s thread. Spun right through the brain. Pitiful moth to the beautiful flame, amen. And you are the festering sore we must. Get used to. That’s the last thing this place needs. Another know it all. Preaching to hear themselves preach to the wall. Pointless. What you don’t seem to understand. We’re fine with the way things are. Who cares when the war began. Or if it’s still here tomorrow. And you are the festering sore we must. Get used to. You’re the sore that spreads. Poisoning the blood. Climbing up the limbs. Your two cents will roll right down into the drain pipe. Where the blood and the bones of what’s wrong. With this picture stay hidden from the light. Did you think it would matter one bit at all? Undecipherable hieroglyphics on the wall. Who cares when the war began. Who cares if it’s here tomorrow. Who cares if it ever ends. A lie for a guiding star. The last thing this place needs. Another know it all. Telling us all how the sky’s going to fall. Yeah you are the festering sore climbing up the limb.