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Alexander Collas

Death Nail Media

The Disease of Religion


There is a hot wind blowing
It moves across the oceans and into every port
A plague. A black plague. There’s danger everywhere
And you’ve been sailing

And you’re all alone on an island now tuning in
Did you think this was the way
Your world would end?
Hombres. Sailors. Comrades

There is no pure land now. No safe place
And we stand here on the pier
Watching you drown
Love among the sailors
Love among the sailors

There is a hot wind blowing
Plague drifts across the oceans
And if this is the work of an angry god
I want to look into his angry face
There is no pure land now. No safe place
Come with us into the mountains
Hombres. Sailors. Comrades

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