So we played our games
In the dug-out graves
Shouting curses at the dirt
'til the Messiah showed his face
With his soap-stone eyes
And his seaweed beard
And he scolded us so sharply
With his winding river tongue
It was not my place
To be calling names
'Cause I was the oil-spitting acid-tripping dog

"I would like to see you at your worst"
What's your worst?

So you'll sleepwalk home
In a sick moon's glow
Just a lonely set of bones
Beside a lonely service road
You will crack your skull
Like a rotting hull
Just to picture all the good you could've done yourself
By picking from the tree

So I read the psalms
Off your painted palms
And they drew a darker picture
Than our father would've liked
It is not your place
To be digging graves
Should have learned from my mistakes
And left it up to fate