VERSE 1



This house is on fire

the slaves have found the key

Adam's apple is the poison root

of this tree



the stink of your skin

reminds me of my own sin

there is no way to come clean

but to burn everything



CHORUS 1



we killed our idols and grew our own wings

traded every thought

for all the dark things



VERSE 2



lets make this noise last

don't let the dead rest

we will have our revenge

for kicking us out of eden



the stink of your skin

reminds me of my own sin

there is no way to come clean

but to burn everything



CHORUS 2



We killed our idols and grew our own wings

traded every thought

for all the dark things



we are the puppets who cut their own strings

were the army of

all the dark things