Beggars, thieves and lives downtrodden
Come to me as the King of the Damned
They hang their actions on my blackened outlook
They take their lives by the slight of my hand
They bought a ticket to the Gates of Heaven
But all the Saints see them coming and they run

No chance for reason
No hope at all
No slight return to grace, but a long, long way to fall
A sorry sign of weakness
A silly game to play
A sad song of what becomes of the souls on judgement day

Dead eyes to find you
No tales to tell
Been lost so long I learnt to hunt by sense of smell
Old hands are broken
Old veins are torn
Cos' we're all dying from the day that we are born

We're trying, we're torn
We're dying from the day that we're born
We're trying, we're torn
We're dying from the day that we're born

Can't save a sick man
Can't raise the dead
Can't make a deal with something that's only in your head
My spirit's broken
My soul is torn
Cos' we're all dying from the day that we are born

We're trying, we're torn
We're dying from the day that we're born
We're trying, we're torn
We're dying from the day that we're born