American Rage

Open up the front door
I'm gonna kill you on the sidewalk
I'll lay you out on the asphalt
I'll make it look like it's your own fault
You're singing out a sacred chord
Out of tune to a tone-deaf lord

And the congregation fall down to their knees
And the congregation fall down to their knees

Cos even hell is colder than the Blue Ridge sun
And the children in the choir stop singing one by one
Go ask that drunken preacher if it was all in vain
Ask him why I feel
All of my American Rage

I know I'll never make it home
There's a hole there with your broken bones
They're buried with the lost things
The heavy weather that the storm clouds bring
I'll watch you dig you your own grave
Full of souls that you could not save

And the congregation died upon their knees
And the congregation died upon their knees

Even hell is colder than the Blue Ridge sun
And the children in the choir stop singing one by one
Go ask that thieving preacher if he's the one to blame
And him why I feel

I'll drag your name through the mud and the dirt
Across Hell's half acre on your God's green earth
So if anyone asks I won't have to explain

Even hell is colder than the Blue Ridge sun
And the children in the choir fell silent one by one
Go tell your local preacher he's the one to blame
Tell him why I feel

This American Rage