It won’t be by fire it won’t be by ice not a slow-creeping glacier or atomic device The sun won’t implode on apocalypse day There won’t be four horsemen riding our way Our angel of death will have no wings at all she's a dot on a slide she's a spiky red ball our angel of death will be too small to see killing us all, infectiously The Messiah won’t show with a list in his hand And no, heaven won’t have one helluva band And there won’t be any fences to mend or dastardly sins we’re forced to defend We'll end with a whimper viral, tiny, and small from something we caught on our trip to the mall Our angel of death will have no wings at all she's a dot on a slide she's a spiky red ball our angel of death will be too small to see killing us all, infectiously
