Lyrics

Whoa is me,
I find these terrible things
But how did I discover?
Did I search unabashedly?

The mind is a dangerous thing to express
Seasoned riders stifle at hallows behest
The saints will come marching out of the woodwork
Their artificial light beyond magnificent

Whoa is me,
I hear these terrible things
But why should I shudder?
If done unobtrusively

Whoa is me,
I say such terrible things
But why do I bother?
If done so precariously