A Eulogy for the Damned

Beggars, thieves and lifes downtrodden

Come to me as the king of the damned

They hang their actions on my blackened outlook

They take their lives by the slight of my hand

They bought a ticket to the gates of heaven

But all the saints see them coming and they run

No chance for reason

No hope at all,

No slight return to grace, but a long, long way to fall

As sorry sign of weakness

A silly game to play

A sad songs of what becomes of the souls on judgement day

Dead eyes to find you

No tales to tell

Been lost so long I learn to hunt by sense of smell

Old hands are broken

Old veins are torn

Cos' we're all dying from the day that we are born

We're trying, we're torn

We're all dying from the day that we are born

We're trying, we're torn

We're all dying from the day that we are born