These fingers are freezing, They’re screaming of poor circulation. We’ve traded the greatest physician for self-medication And now this body is failing.
The heart slows its beating, we’re needing a resuscitation. We took turns deciding the ending while we took communionsome egos and doctrine mixed in with an addictive poison. And it tastes of redemption. And each evered appendage established it’s own holy union... but what good are hands apart from the body? We’re satisfied with removing limbs when we decide they’re functionless. Wait for me here, this surgery is elective. Wait for me. We took turns playing to these masses careful not to lose them. If they dare to move against us, we’ll just remove them.
We’ve shifted the blame from the head to the hands to the feet... They should have run faster. We’ve shifted the blame so many times, And now they’ve caught us. And now it’s over.
We’re satisfied with removing limbs, We decide they’re functionless. Wait for me here, this surgery is elective. Wait for me here, I’m not going under. Wait for me.