Paroles: Twelve Tribes. Midwest Pandemic.

The dead are coming oh she said son
And they?ll kill again so take comfort in these words
They can?t take you from my arms
Hell is waiting outside beyond these walls
It won?t save your soul to panic at this point

Blessed are the lethargic
For they are cursed to die for your cause

When they come
Hold tight to your father?s gun
And don?t let it go
You?re going to need it when I?m gone
And when I?m gone
Don?t stop shooting them
They won?t spare your heart for being a coward

Blessed are the lethargic
For they are cursed to die for your cause
Pray for us sweet Mary, mother of God
They keep on coming in swarms
They keep on coming in swarms

In the war between God & Man
We are both in contempt
But you won?t remember this and I can?t explain
She said,
?we?re gonna make it..
We?re gonna make it out
We?re gonna make it..
We?re gonna make it out?

I?m not convinced that they won?t stay dead

In the greatest of our despair
The war is not lost
And all your dreams are still on their way
He said,
?We?re gonna make it out
We?re gonna make it out
We?re gonna make it out?

And all your fears will come to pas
As each shell tears you apart
And all your angels will sing your praise
To give you hope for what it?s worth
RUN