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• Artiste: Common Dead
• Titre: No Saint
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You're no saint Damning bodies fleeting of souls Follow brainless teachings of old In hopes of owning masses Spitting venom, calling it "faith" For twisted, sick ideals Their book becomes a crutch and a shield Their theory in the role of a sword How dare you point the finger You got nothing on me, and you, sir, Are no goddamn saint You're no saint The fallen always victims to tease You hide with false security Prepared for your deception Some will never believe The tricks you're crawling through Again the fates have proven it wrong Irony has finished the job In my time or another Your entire plan of control Will only bring you hell Through history it has always shown Your time to own up Is right fucking now Captured, convinced as a child That way, you never outgrow it Demand your new birth in freedom Their book becomes a crutch and a shield Their theory in the role of a sword How dare you point the finger You got nothing on me, and you, sir, Are no goddamn saint You're no saint