Midwest Pandemic - Twelve Tribes

The dead are coming oh she said son

And they’ll kill again so take comfort in these words

They can’t take you from my arms

Hell is waiting outside beyond these walls

It won’t save your soul to panic at this point

Blessed are the lethargic

For they are cursed to die for your cause

When they come

Hold tight to your father’s gun

And don’t let it go

You’re going to need it when I’m gone

And when I’m gone

Don’t stop shooting them

They won’t spare your heart for being a coward

Blessed are the lethargic

For they are cursed to die for your cause

Pray for us sweet Mary, mother of God

They keep on coming in swarms

They keep on coming in swarms

In the war between God & Man

We are both in contempt

But you won’t remember this and I can’t explain

She said

«we're gonna make it.

We’re gonna make it out

We’re gonna make it.

We’re gonna make it out»

I’m not convinced that they won’t stay dead

In the greatest of our despair

The war is not lost

And all your dreams are still on their way

He said

«We're gonna make it out

We’re gonna make it out

We’re gonna make it out»

And all your fears will come to pas

As each shell tears you apart

And all your angels will sing your praise

To give you hope for what it’s worth

RUN