lost of words

Like vultures we lust after death and the rotten
Like demons we make sure you don't feel alive
Like poets we try to deliver this message
So listen to this and be sure to miss when I'm gone

Since I'm not a believer, I wash my hands with the blood of my actions
The saints are calling my name
Hear it, they come at night

I refuse to stand in line, waiting for something to never happen
My children, rise from the dead, let's
decapitate that bitches fucking head