Drying pants hanging off the pine

How deep and hungry is the devil's stomach, tell the truth
When he sends out killers to chase us down, we herds of humans
This field we've been left to run in, random trees and suspense
The cave man still in us running now cattle in a fence

Those drying pants in the wind
the man appears out of nowhere to master his sin
I looked up at the confident pine and saw the pant's size
They were hanging and swaying and singing goodbye

One blade, one man and a dozen people screaming for help
running through the field for their lives, every man for himself
unable to cooperate and overpower the maniac, fear in mode
The devil's stomach digested the whole terrible episode

And in the church where everyone forgot themselves
The knife was placed with care next to the alter bells
As the people and their killer prayed in silence
Soon to return to their hysterical running from the violence