Some days the hate just writes itself
After all you've been sitting on a throne
Maybe you're bound for something else
Something small and dark to match the stains upon your heart
Just don't be a thumb when you can be the hand
And dictate to your fingers their role in any plan
What an awful series of thoughts to start this holy day
When bad luck cuts us all a break and for once just goes away
Oh the Hells that I have crossed
Just to keep the Light away from fragile minds
I've heard the bells will soon just stop
And make some space for all the things you cannot say
Just don't be a thumb when you can be the hand
And dictate to your fingers their role in any plan
What an awful series of guys to see this holy day
When bad luck puts on a disguise and neatly ambles away