Plague Lyrics & Chords By The Swarm

Money for your ailing God, pump it into his dead corpse. Yes, you are just like your christ - a smooth talking salesman with all the easy answers. A TV personality is all you'll ever fucking be. And the sheep that feed your disease deserve every bit of what they're getting. The false hope of salvation, the seduction of the pliant. Nothing can revive a fictional hero - ever