Tekst:
Rudimentary Peni Death Church

Poppies are the Opium of the People You prefer poppies to people You take pride in Genocide There are no poppies in the USA There are no poppies in the

What's that festering Grotesque Over there in a Wheelchair, Wheelchair Stifled in a Straitjacket Self inflicted Safety pin Wounds, wounds, wounds is

The Black Cloud gathers smothers my Brain As i cry another tear in this struggle of Pain Another hurdle to clear is it all the same Is the conquest of

It's Escapist shit of a feeble kind a fucked up institution for fucked up minds holy Matrimony is a Blissful Myth Wholly based on tradition, wholly based

Have you Realised that Rock Stars Always seem to lie so much? John Lydon once said he cared But he never really gave a fuck Said he'd use the money he

as you walk out of the valium of death, a sad feeling limps around your brain, funny farmers sowing seeds of discontent, pumping nerve gas around unfeeling

transatlantic titanic freakshout, radio schizo, new empire's devouring old, radio schizo, the one's called sane wanna self destruct, radio schizo, peoples

carnivores are like tombstones cremating animal carcasses creating animal shit coffins carnivores are like tombstones carnivores are flesh tombstones

all the time- locked in your abbatoir of greed, whilst you destroy them + yourself- by taking much more than you need, there is no justice in this death