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Buried because of progress and profit, face the facts, |
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you can send the harlot for the job of a pilgrim. |
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When we cast the script, we found it hard to tell either apart, |
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enter the modern world. Take rest my love because the thief is |
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blessed with sounding bells, the body count is all we got and I know |
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that is hollow still. Midnight is growing deer. |
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To sing of love or to sing of life is a lonely road but I walk in faith. |
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Shake up the press, raise the flag, I have seen way too much to let my heart break. |
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With the father's past, how can distances be great? |
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This is for the Earth that slept too late. |
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Bless the thief. |
