Escaping from what you've done
And what you did to yourself
If all ends well
Well I won't be sure
With your hand on my hand
And the gun in your mouth
And the whispers that you hear
And the blasphemy that you shout
Collecting religions
So that you can feel god
Is as nice and loving as your facade
There's always glass in the living room
With your hand on my hand
And the gun in your mouth
And the whispers that you hear
And the blasphemy that you shout
With your hand on my hand
And the gun in your mouth
And the whispers that you hear
And the blasphemy that you shout
With your hand on my hand
And the gun in your mouth
And the whispers that you hear
And the blasphemy that you shout
