Doomsday, the end of the century
In accord with prophecy
Are all your fears and fires and family
Written within the Book of Butchery?
My appetite is endless
The people defenseless
This land is big, this land is bigger
But never as big as the mouth of a singer-oh.
Every morning I listen to confessional
Couldn't give a shit 'bout the bulk of it
Still I keep it professional
Then, as penance, I tell 'em to proselytize
Say: the sun is red, say that I am red
Say: all your bases belong to us
And of doomsday, the end of the century
In accord with prophecy
Put all your fears, your fires, your family
Into the mouth of Final Fantasy
All the bishops will kneel at their alters and sing
And remove their coils, their rings, their jewels
And lay them all down in sacrifice
What of things? What thing? What is this thing?
I've a temper as shiny as any bling!
And all this attention will gain you no favour in paradise
The crack
Where is the crack?
When did I
Crack?
Then I'll stand alone on a planet with
Nothing left to remember it
I'll try, I'll try, I'll try to prevent it
I'll try, I'll try, but I'll never stop it, no
Muzzle me, muzzle muzzle me
Bind my will and break of me
You try, you try, you try to prevent it
You'll try, you'll try, but you'll never stop it, no