They open pages on walls, They laugh when the cue says fall, They praise but don't believe They live in practiced sanctity
We're not all right, we're not all wrong We practice our hobbies, sing glory in song We are not a lie, your not a clone We picked in our brothers home.
It is not real, it is not real. I wish I could feel the way you claim to feel. Plan it on paper, nailed in your head. Show me a God that is not dead. They sing Hallelujah to the Lord. I heard them sing Hallelujah to Lord