Choir of Dogs

I don't wanna rehearse with the Choir of Dogs I have no words to encourage, I don't admire the gods That have us fighting over scraps in line And breeding in the trash and biting apples Slightly flecked with Eden's ash So, if the domesticator supplies the marrow of good behaviour Then how do you keep parasites of all kinds Out of the private paradise that you have in mind If I refuse the blessed fruit that tamed the Choir of Dogs Who's bruised flesh will substitute For the maimed and tired gods That have us fighting over scraps in line And breeding in the trash and biting apples Slightly flecked with Eden's ash So if the domesticator supplies the marrow of such good behaviour Then how do you keep parasites of all kinds Out of the private paradise that you have in mind What you have in mind They wanna slice off the tongue that secretes a fearless melody While they're preaching to the heroes that they'll likely never see They wanna slice of the tongue that secretes a fearless melody Well, they're preaching to the heroes that they'll never see