Doomsday, the end of the century
In accord with prophecy
Is all of your fear, your fire, your 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 a mouth of a singer, oh
Every morning I listen to confessional
I don't give a shit 'bout the bulk of it
Still, I keep it professional
And as penance I tell 'em to proselytize
Say the sun is red, say that I am red
Say all their bases belong to us
And of doomsday, the end of the century
In accord with prophecy
Put all your fear, your fire, your family
Into the mouth of Final Fantasy
And the bishops will kneel at their altars and sing
Remove their coils, their rings, their jewels
Lay them all down in sacrifice
What of things? What things? What is this thing?
I've a temper as shiny as any bling!
And all this attention will gain you no favour in paradise
In accord with prophecy
Is all of your fear, your fire, your 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 a mouth of a singer, oh
Every morning I listen to confessional
I don't give a shit 'bout the bulk of it
Still, I keep it professional
And as penance I tell 'em to proselytize
Say the sun is red, say that I am red
Say all their bases belong to us
And of doomsday, the end of the century
In accord with prophecy
Put all your fear, your fire, your family
Into the mouth of Final Fantasy
And the bishops will kneel at their altars and sing
Remove their coils, their rings, their jewels
Lay them all down in sacrifice
What of things? What things? What is this thing?
I've a temper as shiny as any bling!
And all this attention will gain you no favour in paradise
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