The Sick

Don't think I can't see through you

Don't think you would ever fool me

I'll get what's coming to me

From the womb unto the tomb

The stagnant air that fills the room

Into the shrine where you have knelt

You felt the buckle now feel the belt

Don't give it away

Your deepest cut will leave no mark

This sceptic skin will never scar

Come breathe some light into my dark

Be penitent and penetrate

Between the liquor and all these lies

See past the bruises of your hate

Come face to face and meet your fate

The weak will walk the sick will see

Caress my cursed soul for me

These begging hands will pray with glee

Upon your blackened fists and knees

This sleuth hound is the Lord of lies

This boiling pot will draw the flies

Write one more cheque before you die

Don't think I can't see through ya

Do ya think I'd ever fool ya

You'll get what's coming to ya

You'll get what's coming to ya

You'll get what's coming to ya

The weak will walk the sick will see

Caress my cursed soul for me

These begging hands will prey with glee

Upon your blackened fists and knees