Bird Of Ill Omen

How can an intimate feeling between two halves
be evenly distributed down the middle
so precise you slice to work your magic
just a reminder plastic ankles melt faster
in your man made heaven
you create a comforting space for me to lay on my face
well im tired of tasting dirt
i beg for more fingerprints around my throat
your gold halo turns from rust to run
down the necks of the saved ones
trap me in your hands
save me
suffocate me like the rest
sew my mouth shut
so i can only read your brainwashed theories
comfort my hands with rusty nails
punish my neck by hanging it from this rosary
all i ask is to see your face
to prove that youre not as white
as they make you out to be
fuck your blue eyed god
fuck this racist rule
[ Play Dead Lyrics ]