Please come down to the warehouse
His followers are comin’ through
They will make you say grace, but your mouth will be full of food
They will make you say grace, raise your glass high
Your mouth already drippin’ red with wine

Please come down to the warehouse
They’re prayin’ over plates of food
They will roll their mats out, sleep on the concrete, sleep on the roof
They will dance in circles, raise their feathers high
Play that boombox sermon: what a glory to die

Does anyone remember the story of Tolliver and Jobby Skrew?
One dread turn himself in for a murder that he didn’t do
Said “I look just like him! Take me for the blame!”
Like what if Peter stood up, said “He was my friend.”