[Verse 1]
Sardis shit her Sunday whites,
Spilled her wine and killed the lights,
Built her name on dead men's bones,
Waltzed with ghosts and called it home.

Dressed in garb from Fitch & Frank,
Perfume sour and spirit rank,
Dragged her soul up to the throne,
Like a club-foot zombie, all alone.

[Chorus]
You’re dead, girl, dead, can’t you see?
A walking lie in finery.
Built your trust in rust and rot,
And thought the Lord would just forgot.
But names get crossed,
And books get read—
You’re dead, girl...
Stone cold dead.

[Verse 2]
Blinded by men’s sweet applause,
You broke the rules, then changed the laws.
Dignity? Divinity?
It’s sunk and smashed—ain’t hard to see.

You sold your faith for bricks and gold,
For whispers in the church that’s cold,
And now you stagger, proud and cursed,
A zombie bride rehearsing verse.

[Chorus – Repeat]
You’re dead, girl, dead, can’t you see?
A walking lie in finery.
Built your trust in rust and rot,
And thought the Lord would just forgot.
But names get crossed,
And books get read—
You’re dead, girl...
Stone cold dead.

[Bridge]
You traded fire for Sunday charm,
A calloused hand for false alarm.
You swapped the watchtower for the clock,
Now you’ll hear that midnight knock.

[Verse 3 – Soft or spoken]
I’ll come when least expected,
And you’ll find yourself rejected.
No fame, no claim, no final breath,
Your name erased...
Your song is death.

[Final Chorus]
So rattle them chains, the Judge ain’t waitin’,
Your good-time gospel’s long past datin’.
You danced with death in Sunday lace—
Now fire’s flirtin’ with your face.
You played the bride but kissed the grave,
Your hymns were hollow, dressed to save.
But heaven’s still got one last rope—
So grab it, sinner—swing or choke.


[Outro – Spoken Word]
Wake up.
This ain’t a drill.
Reset your midnight watches...
Or lie still.

@victorrobertfarrell
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© 2025 Victor Robert Farrell (PurpleRobert)
Writers: Kentucky Johnson & Bobby Farrell 🌐 www.kentuckyjohnson.com

Presented by Mr. Farrell’s Sound Parlour -🌐 www.soundparlour.music

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