Ghost Party - Mr. Christ

She’s my American dream
Bullet holes in self esteem
She wants nothing to do with me
And my grand conspiracy
Photo books of detonation
Bombs made for evaporation
I’m so sick of waiting
For Mr. Christ to come save me
Sirens serenade a park bench
Spray paint on a picket fence
My hand are atomic bombs
What could possibly go wrong?
I wait for my seclusion
My all American delusion
We burned a hole in the sun
Mr. Christ please wake up
Mr. Christ please wake up

Written by:
Chandler Roberts, Jack Swartz

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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