Iwrestledabearonce

In three months and a day your homes will plague you
Your paychecks will haunt you
And your love life will own you
This is it
We'll expect the cost (we'll expect the cost)
Spring does not exist, neither does Jesus
To whom inquires first
While you sit their praying hard to a god that doesn't exist
As your head follows down
It's in your mouth
Forty years, into nights
Child this will end your life
Forty years, of your life
A bad taste
A terrible sense of smell