MOG

Where the castaways look so deranged
Sifted through sand and leftover nightmares
Oh, hungry days in the footsteps of fools
When will children learn to let their wildernesses burn

These withered hands have dug for a dream
Over the hill, a desolate wind
We live again
The end, oh, the end
The end, oh, the end
We live again

Oh, I grow weary of the end
Oh, I grow weary of the end
We live again

The end, oh, the end
Turns shit to gold and blows my soul crazy

Dredging the night, drunk libertines
Gazing alone through sex painted windows
And love will be new, never cold and vacant
Love is a plague in a mix match parade
Stink like colognes from a new fangled wasteland