They don't like the curse 'cause it looks a mirror
They thought it was too weird, but the truth is they're weirder
These yacht club socialists, these patriot grifters
Patriot psalm and their cure-all elixirs
These anti-Christ Christians sure look more like demons
And these little-dick rambozos shopping strapped with machine guns
A call for blood in the streets from a screen, on the couch
While a serf brings them lunch 'cause they won't leave the house
These Leninist landlords, these Randian children
The class cosplay, the tiny homes, these van-lifer villains
The world's an empty shopping mall, all mirrors are shattered
Self-image through a filter that looks less of a bastard
This is not your fault, nothing is your fault
And if everything's religion, baby, we are a cult
