Needs must when the devil drives

In a marsh in the midst of trouble
weary come to rest
The hope we acted on
is put to test at best

The fires of hell’ve become
picnic to our pain
Most of what we hoped for
washed away by bloody rain

I found my faith in little things
because they’re all that’s left
There is no gene for fate
Being born, all of us are effed

Spurs were made for hurting horses
Guns were made to not protect
Punish, yes, and to inject
fear and loathing of all forces

Fortune seekers in a marsh in the midst of trouble
Does that not describe us all?
Find your faith in little things
lest you lose it all

Needs must when the devil drives