The Beast That Cannot Be Fed

You can hold your breath until you turn cold blue, before you inhale the putrid air that expels from me.
Burn all the sinners, condemn me if you will.

I may creep the night, but you lurk in the darkest of shadows.
Empires rise.
They fall.
But every Sunday you feed the best that cannot be fed.

The warm moist poison from your lungs can condense on the bottom of my car as your body entangles it's innards, as I chauffeur you to hell.

I may creep the night, but you lurk in the darkest of shadows.
Empires rise.
They fall.
But every Sunday you feed the beast that cannot be fed.