The Butcher

Doomsday, the end of the century

In accord with prophecy

Are all your fears and fires and family

Written within the Book of Butchery?

My appetite is endless

The people defenseless

This land is big, this land is bigger

But never as big as the mouth of a singer-oh.

Every morning I listen to confessional

Couldn't give a shit 'bout the bulk of it

Still I keep it professional

Then, as penance, I tell 'em to proselytize

Say: the sun is red, say that I am red

Say: all your bases belong to us

And of doomsday, the end of the century

In accord with prophecy

Put all your fears, your fires, your family

Into the mouth of Final Fantasy

All the bishops will kneel at their alters and sing

And remove their coils, their rings, their jewels

And lay them all down in sacrifice

What of things? What thing? What is this thing?

I've a temper as shiny as any bling!

And all this attention will gain you no favour in paradise

The crack

Where is the crack?

When did I

Crack?

Then I'll stand alone on a planet with

Nothing left to remember it

I'll try, I'll try, I'll try to prevent it

I'll try, I'll try, but I'll never stop it, no

Muzzle me, muzzle muzzle me

Bind my will and break of me

You try, you try, you try to prevent it

You'll try, you'll try, but you'll never stop it, no