A Eulogy For the Damned

Beggars, thieves, and lifes downtrodden
Come to me as the king of the damned
They hang their actions on my blackened outlook
They take their lives by the slight of my hand
They bought a ticket to the gates of heaven
But all the saints see them coming, and they run

No chance for reason, no hope at all
No slight return to grace, but a long, long way to fall
A sorry sign of weakness, a silly game to play
A sad song of what becomes of the souls on judgement day

Dead eyes to find you, no tales to tell
Been lost so long, I learn to hunt by sense of smell
Old hands are broken, old veins are torn
'Cause we're all dying from the day that we are born

We're trying, we're torn
We're dying from the day that we're born
We're trying, we're torn
We're dying from the day that we're born

Can't save the sick man, can't raise the dead
Can't make a deal with something that's only in your head
My spirit's broken, my soul is torn
'Cause we're all dying from the day that we are born

We're trying, we're torn
We're dying from the day that we're born
We're trying, we're torn
We're dying from the day that we're born



Credits
Writer(s): Ben Ward, Joe Hoare, Chris Turner, Martyn Millard
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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