Some days the hate just writes itself

After all you've been sitting on a throne

Maybe you're bound for something else

Something small and dark to match the stains upon your heart

Just don't be a thumb when you can be the hand

And dictate to your fingers their role in any plan

What an awful series of thoughts to start this holy day

When bad luck cuts us all a break and for once just goes away

Oh the Hells that I have crossed

Just to keep the Light away from fragile minds

I've heard the bells will soon just stop

And make some space for all the things you cannot say

Just don't be a thumb when you can be the hand

And dictate to your fingers their role in any plan

What an awful series of guys to see this holy day

When bad luck puts on a disguise and neatly ambles away