Riveting Tales of Everyone’s Favorite Big Beautiful Lie

I’m fucking sick and tired of these lunatics
Who’d kill themselves over two pieces of wood
Oh yeah, you’re real stylish and classy
On what you think is good

You must be so fucking proud
As you stand upon the dead, kick sand in their eyes
I can hear your endless mockery
What do you think it implies?

How many people do you want in the grave?
Who you think is “a step below”
Does that mean everyone? Everyone that you can call a heathen
Do you want them all in a row? (Fire, fire, fire!)

You’ll be buried by the tree, have the roots grow in your place
More useful than when you were alive
It’s crazy to think how many people
Believe a lie