American Rage

Open up the front door I'm gonna kill you on the sidewalk I'll lay you out on the asphalt I'll make it look like it's your own fault You're singing out a sacred chord Out of tune to a tone-deaf lord And the congregation fall down to their knees And the congregation fall down to their knees Cos even hell is colder than the Blue Ridge sun And the children in the choir stop singing one by one Go ask that drunken preacher if it was all in vain Ask him why I feel All of my American Rage I know I'll never make it home There's a hole there with your broken bones They're buried with the lost things The heavy weather that the storm clouds bring I'll watch you dig you your own grave Full of souls that you could not save And the congregation died upon their knees And the congregation died upon their knees Even hell is colder than the Blue Ridge sun And the children in the choir stop singing one by one Go ask that thieving preacher if he's the one to blame And him why I feel I'll drag your name through the mud and the dirt Across Hell's half acre on your God's green earth So if anyone asks I won't have to explain Even hell is colder than the Blue Ridge sun And the children in the choir fell silent one by one Go tell your local preacher he's the one to blame Tell him why I feel This American Rage