Dead Lights - Elevator Muzak In Heaven

Despite our best laid plans.
There's always work for idle hands.
And tonight, as we lay awake,
A thought takes shape.
I'll be Cain, you be Abel.
We'll climb the tower of Babel.
To call God on the party line.
Talk in all the tongues of swine.
We see the divine outlined with a neon sign.
His blood, the taste of cheap wine.

Through my tears I see Elysium.
Liquor pouring easy, God's got a gun.
Every channel's showing soft core porn.
Starring saints and believers reborn.
This is it, as good as it gets.
We've got cheap cigarettes and Russian roulette.
There's such sights in the midnight heat.
Well, you should see the view from the penthouse suite.

Afar, archangels in automobiles.
Driving muscle cars through the Elysian Fields.
Chasing girls like the guiding star.
Looking suave, smoking Cuban cigars.
They've got the same song playing on repeat.
While doing bumps of coke in the back seat.
A motorcade like an army.
Cruising under red lights and palm trees.

Yeah, these pearly gates,
They open 'til late.

It looks like a tourist trap.
Kitsch bars and gift shops selling crap.
Why not buy your own messiah?
Who knew Jesus was made in China?
Sold by Mother Mary, now endowed with silicon.
His kingdom, more like Babylon.
The angels' got f*ckin' plastic wings.
And all God's people sing.

Hallelujah!
Sing Hallelujah!

There's elevator muzak in heaven.
The strip clubs are open from seven.
The overweight, old and nameless.
Enter the gates, this place is Las Vegas.

This place is Las Vegas.
For the infirm and nameless.

There's elevator muzak in heaven.
They turn that shit up to eleven.
There's elevator muzak in heaven.
And they turn that sh*t up to eleven.