To the makers of manner
The giver of tools
You fucked up tomorrow
Now enforce your rules

You gave us good head
Took our minds of the dread
You ran to support us
And sold us instead

Still we hope and we pray
That our lives may soon change
All of this self decay
Will be washed away washed away
In the undertow

To the makers of manners
Who pray for us tools
You fucked up tomorrow
Now enforce your rules

You gave us a sign
Called it divine
We're still playing for salvation
A buck at a time