Feeding Off The Misfortunes Of Others

sometimes i smile for the dead while choking on the rust of
sentiment when the hearse comes rolling in will the flowers be
washed away when the hearse comes rolling in i'll be dressed in
the finest if only murder was a fountain of youth you should
have killed me when you had the chance cash and crosses make
statements we cannot trust our futures to the empty promises of
a seducer that has no love in it's heart.