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I've been chasing paper man, It's stole away my soul. The picket fence stabbed me to death, I'm lyin' here in a hole. Four Dead Presidents, all standin' there in a line. Stuff your trap all full of food, on the ground puke drunk on wine.

I smell the blood in what we've sworn. You missed the elevator, just to get the job done. Born into this land of greed. Sell off everything, get there what ya' need. "Son, this songs a business. You better fake yourself a smile. You won't be there complain', when you give into denial."

The Devil, he wears a jacket. Made from the finest furs. That he got there at a sweatshop son, "keep working, call me sir." The preacher he done tell me. He's like a thief inside the night. So grab your basket all around and well illuminate the night.

I smell the blood in what we've sworn. You missed the elevator, just to get the job done. Born into this land of greed. Sell off everything, get there what ya' need. "Son, this songs a business. You better fake yourself a smile. You won't be there complain', when you give into denial."

I smell the blood in what we have sworn. A ghost cry's, "Torture!", when a land is born. "Son, this songs a business. You better fake yourself a smile. You won't be there complain', when you give into denial."

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from The Silence Club: Volume 1, released October 16, 2017

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