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Pick a sin we can both live with, is what I ask.
The language of sin was universal, the original Esperanto.
Sooner or later a black car came for everyone.
I will die like a true-blue rebel. Don’t waste any time in mourning.
Longhaired preachers come out every night, Tryin’ to tell us what’s wrong
And he paddled away in his douche canoe.
Work and pray, live on hay, youll get pie in the sky when you die.
I see God now as an unimaginative writer of popular fictions, someone
The soul may not be destroyed. The soul goes on forever. Like