VERSE 1
This house is on fire
the slaves have found the key
Adam's apple is the poison root
of this tree

the stink of your skin
reminds me of my own sin
there is no way to come clean
but to burn everything

CHORUS 1
We killed our idols and grew our own wings
traded every thought
for all the dark things

VERSE 2
Let's make this noise last
don't let the dead rest
we will have our revenge
for kicking us out of eden

the stink of your skin
reminds me of my own sin
there is no way to come clean
but to burn everything

CHORUS 2
We killed our idols and grew our own wings
traded every thought
for all the dark things

we are the puppets who cut their own strings
were the army of
all the dark things