Devil for the Fire

I can't see the devil for the fire Sitting in the back all quiet and polite Room filled up with the smell of burning tires Demons be gone it's the season of the fly Begone! Demons be gone Begone! Demons be gone Laid waste crater face Humming of the highway Head becomes the hand becomes the knife becomes the mind Hazmat-psychic-suit sweeping through the siding I wanna be reborn, but how many times do I gotta die? Begone! Demons be gone Begone! Demons be gone