Lush Rimbaugh - Senses Fail

God, send the meteor

Cause I’ve had enough of this

And I’d like to see some good

Ole fashioned wrathful testament

Why why is it so hard to

Try try to be open to

Eyes eyes that are not yours

In shoes you’ve never walked in?

When I heard you were dying I have to admit

That I felt a bit of sympathy

But then you open your mouth and confirmed to me

That you’re a piece of shit and I’m glad you’re suffering

You fuck

I’m not sorry, I’m not fucking sorry

I’m not sorry anymore, oh whoa

There’s a special place in hell for you

There’s a special place in hell for you

I’m sure they’ve got your number at the door

When I was young I used to hate myself

Because bigots like you were given pedestals

You proselytize in the name of religion

But it’s all for show you’re gonna be locked out of heaven

There is no repenting, there is no coming back

You’re going to hell with a mark on your back

Where you’ll fry like a saint but unlike Joan of Arc

You’re not worth the piss to put out the spark

I’m not sorry, I’m not fucking sorry

I’m not sorry anymore, oh whoa

There’s a special place in hell for you

There’s a special place in hell for you

I’m sure they’ve got your number at the door

You spend your whole life trying to make others

Feel bad for things they can not control

And now you’re dying clinging on to all the

Things you tell yourself but you know in your soul

You will be forgotten

And you will be forgotten like the snow and the ice

While basking in a warm summer sun

I’m not sorry, I’m not fucking sorry

I’m not sorry anymore, oh whoa

There’s a special place in hell for you

There’s a special place in hell for you

I’m sure they’ve got your number at the door