Panacea

We can cure anything
Take your fears away
We will end your suffering
Remove your pain
Don't believe the things you've heard
Ignore all that you read
The devil tried to bring us down
Accusing us of greed
Come all you inequates
Come all you poor souls
Come all life's unfortunates
From out your holes
You'll love your dread of dying
Smash the barriers you've built
And you will give us 10%
We'll give you guilt
And as your problems melt away
You'll be shooting from the hip
You'll love your grip
You'll lose your fear of flying
You'll lose your grip
Come all you inequates
Come all you poor souls
Come all life's unfortunates
From out your holes
Come all you inequates
come all you poor souls
Come all life's unfortunates
From out your holes