Tekster: Blueline Medic. Text_Bomb. Perfect Son.

As in the final hours. The priest came walking in. With beans about his hand and wine about his breath. He took the frail wrist and pulled the stool up to the bed. Have you anything to confess? Have you anything to confess? Nothing Father. I die with no regrets. You die with no regrets? I died with no regrets. But none of us are perfect son. Be not in pieces in your rest. Have you anything to confess? If I have wronged another. Blameless or with intent. You can bet that I did my best