Drunked and Dead

I took a day off 
To listen to stories 
Written by dead souls while deep in their deep sleep 
I went on top of the rooftop of the tower of Babylon 
And there, with my globe-big eyes scanned 
The smooth souls stepping upon 
The smooth soils stepped upon 
Fair sons and daughters 
Left by the now gone souls 
Striding upon the face of the earth 
Drunken and deep drunken 
In their severe fornication 
Which now they drown in 
How do they manage to walk 
In those short, tight skirts 
Designed to define their dirty morals 
Their bellies, 
O’ Saint Paul, 
Designed to drunken the desires in men 
For they are exposed to our sight 
To convince our pants to be torn 
To convince our pants to be torn 
These stories sons I tell you 
Are a living testimony 
Of death lacerating our morals.