The roaches we have bred
Are so well fed
Bursting wide open
With their shit
They, too, have done
Too much to live
So killed by their
Own decadence
Feeding, writhing,
All scavenging, all a corpse
Start going crazy, think "God will feed me, God will save me"
Searching the sky above, believe "God will help me, God will love me"
But there's...
No reason to believe
In anything
Unless you, too, need
That old dream
Seems we have done
Too much to live
And die by our
Own arrogance
Chomping, tearing
All cannibals, all remorse
So start embracing, hope "God will heal me, God will reach me"
Hunt the sky above, and trust "God will hear me, God will love me"
But there's no more savior (misguided)
No more savior (discarded)
You may believe your deity will listen
You may believe your deity will be here again
Blind yourself to claim your reward
Repeating to yourself all you have heard