Feeding Off The Misfortunes Of Others

sometimes i smile for the dead while choking on the rust of 
sentiment when the hearse comes rolling in will the flowers be 
washed away when the hearse comes rolling in i'll be dressed in 
the finest if only murder was a fountain of youth you should 
have killed me when you had the chance cash and crosses make 
statements we cannot trust our futures to the empty promises of 
a seducer that has no love in it's heart.