Meth Saints & Gasoline Hymns

[Intro] “We gather broken, bare, and burnin’— To praise the sack god with shattered tongues.” [Verse 1] Scratched-out skin like a preacher’s page, Burnt spoon choir screamin’ in a cage. They kneel in glass, they bleed in loops, Circle the flame in busted boots. Crank smoke thick like a funeral fog, One girl coughin’ up teeth to a two-headed dog. Crosses burnt into trailer wood walls, Rattlin’ off psalms with no jaws at all. Gasoline hymns in a gutterborn key, Saints of the sack god, filth and debris. Eyes rolled back, spines bent wrong, Singin’ “He is pain,” like a baptism song. [chorus] Meth saints, bleed and sing, Light the match, crown the king. Flesh to fire, soul to soot, They offer limbs and huff the proof. Glass in hand, ash on skin, This the church of Burlap’s sin. [Verse 2] Sermon carved in the meat of a thigh, Verse two screamed while the speaker died. They draw sigils in piss and rust, They burn the babies and call it trust. Found a city boy tryin’ to sell his stash, Now he twitchin’ in the holy ash. Preacher missin’ half his face, Still speakin’ tongues ’bout the sack god’s grace. Got a hymnal full of m****r notes, Written in veins and s*****e quotes. Praise be the crank and flame, Praise be the rope and name. [Bridge] Burlap walks when the b***d runs hot, He feeds on pain that the clean forgot. So light that fire, and skin that sin, Let the sack god rise again. [chorus’] Meth saints, bleed and sing, Light the match, crown the king. Flesh to fire, soul to soot, They offer limbs and huff the proof. Glass in hand, ash on skin, This the church of Burlap’s sin. [Outro] “Ain’t no savior ridin’ down… Just Burlap, and he don’t ride. He drags.”