Sitting in a church with a flask and a knife
Waiting for the gospel of what's wrong and right
And in a failed attempt to keep my hills plateaued
At least I'm not behind bars waiting for apocalyptic snow
The priest haunts the holy congregation
But his good deeds end with his addictive masturbation
And the flight attendant says keep your ideas stowed
At least I'm not behind bars waiting for apocalyptic snow
Larva attach to the wall and have their meals
They can't see shit because the steel bars do conceal
The soul of a man whose blood continues to flow
At least I'm not behind bars waiting for apocalyptic snow
Some men die by a rag and some are just beaten blind
By a fat white man who signs on a small black line
Little the public eye will ever know
At least I'm not behind bars waiting for apocalyptic snow