Prayer ain't no key.
Words aligned to make a puzzle of mind.
Never meant to make you free.
Prayer, insanity.
You
compete for the never complete.
And it just won't make you see.
Pick your god from the lot, choose your stimulations.
More
down there where they came from,
drunken revelations.
From the shadows of time,
the dead are singing their lies.
Their
dirt is in your eyes,
no one who believes dies.
From the shadows of stones,
laughter of their rattling bones.
Their dirt will
cover your eyes,
no one who believes dies.
Prayer, masked devilry.
Under the yoke of a cosmic joke.
And you just can't let
it be.
Pick your god...
From the shadows...