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Open the doors there are the people

Death, she must have been your will
A bone beneath the reaper's veil
With your voice my belly sunk
And I began to feel so drunk

Candle, candle, on my clock
Oh Lord, I must have heard you knock me out of bed
As the flames licked my head
And my lungs filled up black in their tiny little shack
It was real and I repent
All those messages you sent, clear as day, but in the night
Oh, I couldn't get it right

Here is a church and here is a steeple
Open the doors there are the people
And all their little hearts at ease
For another week's disease

And eagle, eagle, talon, and scream
I never once left in between
I was on the fence and I never wanted your two cents
Down my throat, in to the pit, with my head upon the spit
Oh Reverend, please, can I chew your ear?
I've become what I most fear
And I know there's no such thing as ghosts
But I have seen the demon host

Timber Timbre, 'Demon Host'

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