You've been gone, too long, a quick kill for the new two-dollar bill.
A bad boy, a new toy, a big gun 'till I buy me a bigger one.
Are you acceptable… cultured, respectable?
This seed, will breed, and leave you stinking like a dead man.
Some say, we may, be here when the King comes back again.
I breathe, concrete, she sticks in my skin like a honeybee.
This faith infallible, our vanity palpable…
You know, it grows, it's sleeping underneath your bed, man.
That's it, I quit, no rest in the bed of a hypocrite.
When I, subside, find me in the hands of “The Nazarene”.
I keep it all close to me, misery loves company, so...
I keep it all close to me… You won't find me stinking like a dead man.
CHORUS:
I want to feed it a social disease.
Wake up, wake up, to the new god machine.
I want to feed it a social disease.
Wake up, wake up, you're the new god machine.
I want to feed it. I want to feed it.
Wake up. Wake up. You're the new god machine
