our plight is to realize long enough won't come until we die
so we lay down in the bed of the devil who made us this way
and we pray to pieces of souls we don't think exist anyway
so our art's not for art's sake, our art is for our sake, OK?
our mouths are open in hopes we will vomit some good on the ground
and we're proud just to spit some truth, truth be told we just can't keep it down
the night is filled up with hours of our efforts to empty our minds
and our lives are rotten with knowledge the evil is staying inside
and the infinite hours stretch out for us to write.