Sunday school

Every time I drive a nail into his hand
His aura disappears
Every single thorn I push into his head
The symbolism clears
The skin I open with the crack of my whip
Bleeds sincerity
The salt and vinegar I pour on his wounds
Bring serenity

Cramming centuries of lies in my brain
You've got no proof, I've got no use for this game

The stones I vigorously throw at his face
Enable me to choose
The lance that punctures flesh and lodges in his ribs
Helps me break loose
The cave I blocked to hide your mortal remains
Was never strong enough
The more I try to kill the image of you
The more I live guilt-free

Cramming centuries of lies in my brain
You've got no proof, I've got no use for this game

Cramming centuries of lies in my brain
You've got no proof, I've got no use for this game

No use for this game