Shagohod - Repeater (or For All is Dark Where Thou Art Not) Lyrics

Buried my bullets in the slaver's chest
For to finally get some rest
How I long to close my eyes and just see nothing
Like a blindfold for the firing line
Like a preacher for the killing time
If it helps to ease your mind,
Say you're the cure and not the sickness
Think I'll melt my pistol down to a crucifix
Oh the things we do to forget the things we did
Let me be not consoled, let me be consolation
Like a blindfold for the firing line
Like a preacher for the killing time
If it helps to ease your mind,
Say you're the cure and not the sickness
Just like whiskey for a death row meal
Like rain on a killing field
Does it wash away the feeling
deserve's got nothing to do with it?
I put my hands into the river to wash off all the red
I tear the earth and leave my sins like flowers for the dead
A handful of dirt, a pocketful of gold, a cup of sour wine, the blood from a stone
The lawman's dogma, the murderer's prayer, one a shout, one a whisper, but I see no difference there
Cuz I am a man who is afraid to die
And I can't tell you when but I'd reckon why
I've got a message for the boatman baby, ask him to pass me by
And I don't think he will but it's worth a try
He won't listen to me, cuz he's a mean motherfucker
Won't listen to me, cuz he's a mean motherfucker
Won't listen to me, cuz he's a mean motherfucking guy

Buried my bullets in the slaver's chest
For to finally get some rest
How I long to close my eyes and just see nothing
Like a blindfold for the firing line
Like a preacher for the killing time
If it helps to ease your mind,
Say you're the cure and not the sickness
Think I'll melt my pistol down to a crucifix
Oh the things we do to forget the things we did
Let me be not consoled, let me be consolation
Like a blindfold for the firing line
Like a preacher for the killing time
If it helps to ease your mind,
Say you're the cure and not the sickness
Just like whiskey for a death row meal
Like rain on a killing field
Does it wash away the feeling
deserve's got nothing to do with it?
I put my hands into the river to wash off all the red
I tear the earth and leave my sins like flowers for the dead
A handful of dirt, a pocketful of gold, a cup of sour wine, the blood from a stone
The lawman's dogma, the murderer's prayer, one a shout, one a whisper, but I see no difference there
Cuz I am a man who is afraid to die
And I can't tell you when but I'd reckon why
I've got a message for the boatman baby, ask him to pass me by
And I don't think he will but it's worth a try
He won't listen to me, cuz he's a mean motherfucker
Won't listen to me, cuz he's a mean motherfucker
Won't listen to me, cuz he's a mean motherfucking guy