Bullets And Octane

Born again like a coma
I’m a head that spins in a congregation of sin
Know you can’t but you wanna
Raise your hands for all this lost religion
You suffer endlessly while the preacher preaches
Digging his fingers in me
His message molesting me
All along so strong so wrong
But I kind of like it
Bow our heads, forgive me in this moment of silence
If I die before I wake this faith means nothing really at all.
Such a Saturday night lover
And in the early morning
There’s a Sunday’s forgiveness
Repentance over and over to a safe secure place
Your heavenly disgrace now