Every wants to think serve some kind of purpolse in this world 

and everyone wants to make someone cry and bring flowers at their funeral

but everyone's a slave to them self

Everybody thinks they get some special magic from all of these icons that we make of glass and stone

And everybody reaches to the sky to trick themselves into believing that we're not alone

But Jesus was born in a barn that's why he leaves the door open

I'd rather be a murderer than to be a murder victim

Everyone's a slave to them self, and everyone's afraid of them self.

And nobody has ever loved no one except maybe them self.