A Eulogy For The Damned

Beggars, thieves, and lifes downtrodden
 Come to me as the king of the damned
 They hang their actions on my blackened outlook
 They take their lives by the slight of my hand
 They bought a ticket to the gates of heaven
 But all the saints see them coming, and they run
 No chance for reason, no hope at all
 No slight return to grace, but a long, long way to fall
 A sorry sign of weakness, a silly game to play
 A sad song of what becomes of the souls on judgement day
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 Dead eyes to find you, no tales to tell
 Been lost so long, I learn to hunt by sense of smell
 Old hands are broken, old veins are torn
 'Cause we're all dying from the day that we are born
 We're trying, we're torn
 We're dying from the day that we're born
 We're trying, we're torn
 We're dying from the day that we're born
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 Can't save the sick man, can't raise the dead
 Can't make a deal with something that's only in your head
 My spirit's broken, my soul is torn
 'Cause we're all dying from the day that we are born
 We're trying, we're torn
 We're dying from the day that we're born
 We're trying, we're torn
 We're dying from the day that we're born