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Anthem For The End Of The World

This song is by Pumpkinhead.

(Feat. Chas, Jean Grae)

(Chorus: Chas - sung)
It's the anthem, for the end, of the worrrrrld
It's the anthem, for the end, of the worrrrrld

Pumpkinhead:
The Pope died, Jesus cried
Tsunamis take lives, realize
Look, look in my eyes, and see the sky
A blood red color, as angels hover
Over, Babylon, we suffer
'Cause we don't live right, and we don't see light
And we don't live life, we destroy it
With pollution, guns drugs abortions, too many coffins
Too many orphans, too many coughin from sickness
Manmade illness, since polio and rickets
AIDS cancer Ebola, and black plague
Transmitted, through mice and pigeons
I know, I know my life I'm livin' with wife and children
I know my rights I'm given ain't righteous livin'
A blind man sees the horns of a demon
Inside the uterus the innocence developed by Satan's semen

Jean Grae:
The skies crack open and the fire rains down
With angels back broken and black snow
And a man in a black cloak and then everything goes black
Smokin' everyone soon chokes and collapse slow y'know
It's not the hell inscriptions we read in the writings
We believin in God and death that was free
Till we biting the hand that feeds us
Praying to Jesus for saving us heathens
When we could just rescue ourselves from the demons
Lookin' to dollar lotto to bring us from poverty
Look at Colorado killings, Wal*Mart monopoly
Sadly, takes catastrophes to bring us closer
And man, working class man is sewn up
Cold Crush the grown-ups feel, and Bush is finger fuckin' us
Hard to see past the tricks in front of us, the cover-ups
And so we covered lust after a couple of bucks
And the tragedy, of humanity, keeps fuckin' up

Pumpkinhead:
Born in the dark of the night, Rosemary verse
A baby boy, to George Bush the Anti-Christ
It's the end as we know it, predicted in paintings
Of Mary Magdelene, DaVinci Coded, open the third eye
Of this poet, point noted, so keep flossin
Spendin money on frozen jewelry
Hoes and jury payoffs, you're way off, die in your car
While I ride Jimi Hendrix flyin guitar for the stars

Jean Grae:
Stars well we look to 'em distracted
Probably piss poor and thinkin' 'bout some shit actors
Instead of shit that matters we're stricken inactive
Capitalism captive trapped in a prison in shackles
And of course we never see the world for really how it is
The genocide, the pestilence, the pessimissim lives
Inside of us they wired us to be numb to the facts
The world already ended, we never gon' get it back