We regret to inform you that the magic is dead
Humanizing our tormentors it went straight to their heads
Shootin off your lighting at the sun, fustigation aside it's no fun
Lounging at the battle of bull run, i don't want to die alone or on the run
Or in a pile or pissing blood
We regret to inform you that your homes made of lead
And asbestos kept you warm while you slept in your bed
Calling out your demons one by one, summoning the patrons of the mud
I don't want to look away or be obeyed or pray for anyone