Fierce, I tell you, be the sacrilege of this evil,
and immense in its fear upheaval.
His murderous blade slits shock across our necked world,
under flitting black flag of blood unfurled,
on video violence broadcasting;
it proclaimeth fear everlasting.
Yea I say unto thee this be
raw sorcery if
ever there was one, you see.
So fair and foul a day we have not seen,
and it aint just no bad dream:
this hurly-burly that’s been done–
it slitteth slicker than a gun.
But as that masked weirdo he judgment proclaim
upon our foul and decadent game,
he discerneth not the stink of his own slit,
he smelleth not his own foul shit!
amongst the high, beneath the low,
we all be sinners on this bus,
while innocent children wail amidst the fuss;
This bus trundles along our streets of rage,
while he slithers through the terror of our age.
but Jesus savin’ Christ! stop the bus!
Is there no way out for us?