Midwest Pandemic

Twelve Tribes

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    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

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    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

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    Composición: Twelve Tribes

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