I wanna see your hands, wrapped around my neck.

If I am born of blood, it tastes like shame

What's one more drink?

And so I wash it down

Pseudo thoughtfuls think

In substance I drown

What's one more pill?

And so I swallow away

My Shepherd works the corner, and to a vice I pray

My crisis averted, when Christ was aborted

And now we're all killers, sinners, guilty

Washed in the river – filthy

Gutters, Virgin Mothers – left me here to suffer

Bleak night

Blaspheme

Left in the trenches of mangers when you were a child

Raised in the trenches, born in the trenches, came from the trenches and no, we'll never

Get out

We had youth (we had you)

Until we washed ourselves –

In the river

Take me

I'm fucking filthy

Oh you try and save me

But I'm too guilty

Guilty of nothing