|
Raise your chin and howl |
|
Until all your insides are inside out |
|
The air is black and foul |
|
Sitting in the basement and wanting for you to come down |
|
When your hands move like roots |
|
Making their way through the ground |
|
Oh, come all ye faithful |
|
Come men, women, servants and sons |
|
Leave behind your golden wings for the sticks and rocks and mud |
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And if thee should die tonight |
|
Well it won't be without a sound |
|
When your hands move like roots |
|
Making their way through the ground |
|
When your hands move like roots |
|
When your hands move like roots |
|
When your hands move like roots |
|
Making their way through the ground |
