There’s a rumor through the mill that a fever is in the air.
Now our house is on fire off the ashes of a witch’s black hair.
We are cold. We are damned. We are Pagans from the sand. Beware.
Do as told or be punished,
For the night cometh my friends.
Tell the bastards I am here for blood.
Fortunes are made through unfortunate pain..so what!
Well I wish you good health and maybe not so much wealth next life.
There are babies in the sky parachuting on your dime tonight.
They are cold. They are crammed. They are a human dam...oh my!
I was told there’d be fire a burning desire for pain.
I was told there’d be famine, can you even imagine the strain.
I was told there’d be riddles dressed in thousands of missiles...hurray!
I was told there’d be pressure, an enormous amount of pressure, this way....