you are all wrapped up in white
and your soul fights to survive
you know that you can’t leave
you know you can not stay
all the muddy water in the world
couldn’t wash this sin away
you told ‘em that consumption
would strike down Mary-Gage
you know the reverend’s secret ill
and that the Johnson’s daughter’d be born still
you can’t stop the constant achin’
you think the apple in your chest
was planted by satan
it may be ripe with rot
and filled up with beetles
but you’ll do anything to save these folks
you’ll swallow butcher knives and needles
you lashed a switch across your back
and kneeled upon the broken glass
smashed your hands together
and prayed your prayers so hard
maybe the tongue inside your head
was gifted by the lord
you might not never know
you might not never know
you might lead this flock astray
you’ve got this gift
this curse
and no one answers when you pray
so you swallow a stone
swallow a stone
a stone so big and grey
it’ll keep his voice out of your mouth
if it can’t keep the thoughts away
still they want your hands upon them
and you know your touch must burn
some folks need the burnin’
their stupid to the core
some folks need the burnin’
it’s all that they long for
you see all of the portents
you see all of the signs
you see all of the lust and avarice
that floods their ugly minds
so you swallow a stone
swallow a stone
a stone so big and grey
it’ll keep his voice out of your mouth
if it can’t keep the visions away
you see each silly token
and each commandment broken
you can see the apples in their chests
like yours they’re rotten, bruised and grey
and if you’re the mouth of darkness
or the mouth of light
they’ll all burn anyway
some folks need the burning
their guilty to the core
some folks need the burning
it’s all that they long for
so I say to you
don’t choke on bone
or knives or fat or stone
let them all roll back their eyes
let them all be stunned
speak your truth
and worry not
where the message it comes from
sometimes god will move your tongue
other times the devil takes his turn
so lay your hands upon them
some folks are only fit to burn
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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