That burning feeling, red liquids, clear liquids
Blessed are the sick, children shiver in the river
Where is our god now? Does he watch over all in El Segundo?
He don't lie when he say, "Under"

I'm wasting away
I find time to pine
When pining away my time
Within sin
With no redemption
We will find our souls
And the shells they're kept in
All wasted away

Blessed are the sick in me
The prey, the thrill, the chill, and we
Are martyrs that crumble on time
Predestination, we'll stop upon dimes
And he'd constructed us all in El Segundo
As the shivering children pray

Demons in, demons out
Cry for dawn, gratis, bored, I'm
I'm the matador of the children's ward
Beggars wed choosers
Red sheets, bed sheet, boozers
I'm the head fan, blessed be my bed pan
It's a cold, having-just-been-mugged feeling

In the sun, I've got this for you
Under my finger nails, and I brought this for you
It's typically Sunday, and I got this for you
It's under my finger nails, and I brought it for you

Demons in, demons out
Cry for dawn, gratis, bored, I'm
I'm the matador of the children's ward
Beggars wed choosers
Red sheets, bed sheet, boozers
I'm the head fan, blessed be my bed pan

I'm digging a hole
This is what it's like to feel alone