I’m gonna pray to the god of bullets
I’m gonna pray to the god of powder burns
i’m gonna pray to the saint of sodomy
I’m gonna pray to the god of infamy
I’m gonna pray to the god of cancer
I’m gonna watch the ticks grow fat
I’m gonna pray to the saint of injury
I’m gonna pray to the god of rats
I’m gonna pray x4
I’m gonna pray to the saint of nooses
I’m gonna pray to the god of the damned
I’m gonna watch the leech grow fat
You can sing to your god in heaven
I’m gonna pray to the god of rats
I’m gonna pray x4
I’m gonna pray to the saint of misery
I’m gonna pray to the saint of junk
I tell ya some day there’s gonna be a reckoning
I’m tellin you now that you couldn’t run far enough
I’m tellin you now that you won’t find a place to hide
Your god up in heaven is gonna turn his face away
I’m tellin you now everyone is gonna pay
I’ve gone through your garbage
I’ve lived on your scraps
One of these days your streets are gonna run with rats
I’m gonna pray x4
I’m gonna pray to the god of catacombs
where the horrors of your dreams are gatherin’
Their no longer content with the scraps
Their gonna come for your blood, and bone, their gonna come for your yellow fat
God up in heaven is gonna turn his face away
So you better pray to the god of rats
Vocals: haunted, and subversive. Guitars: splintered shrieks. Drum machine: grim, unrelenting nausea. Visceral noise, with a hook that gets stuck in in your throat. Just try spitting them out. Stranger Killings
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