Panacea

We can cure anything

Take your fears away

We will end your suffering

Remove your pain

Don't believe the things you've heard

Ignore all that you read

The devil tried to bring us down

Accusing us of greed

Come all you inequates

Come all you poor souls

Come all life's unfortunates

From out your holes

You'll love your dread of dying

Smash the barriers you've built

And you will give us 10%

We'll give you guilt

And as your problems melt away

You'll be shooting from the hip

You'll love your grip

You'll lose your fear of flying

You'll lose your grip

Come all you inequates

Come all you poor souls

Come all life's unfortunates

From out your holes

Come all you inequates

come all you poor souls

Come all life's unfortunates

From out your holes