We are damned, we are dead
All God’s children to be sent
To our perfect place
In the sun, in the dirt
There’s a windshield in my heart
We are bugs so smeared and scarred
Could you stop the meat from thinking ‘fore I swallow all of it?
Could you, please?
Put me in the motorcade
Put me in the death parade
Dress me up and take me
Dress me up and make me your dying God
Angels with needles poked through our eyes
Let the ugly light world in
We were no longer blind
We were no longer blind
Put me in the motorcade
Put me in the death parade
Dress me up and take me
Dress me up and make me your dying God
Now we hold the “ugly head”
The Mary-whore is at the bed
They cast the shadow of our perfect death
In the sun and in the dirt