your order is your anarchy
|
your violence your peace
|
your gospel is your blasphemy
|
your famine is your feast
|
destruction is your architect
|
your woman and your priest
|
I fear your falling sanctuary's
|
soon to be your beast
|
I believe in something strange
|
|
the prophecies are closing in
|
upon us one by one
|
the angels of the seven churches
|
maiden of the sun
|
silent lay the gentle lamb
|
the prayer and the gun
|
I believe the gates above
|
are closed to everyone
|
I believe in something strange
|
|
Prophets and angels fall from the altar
|
weak is the grip of the hand of the brave
|
pray for the bleeding that lie in the shatters
|
pray for the dying that lie in their graves
|
|
submission through guilt and fear
|
is not what I had in mind
|
and my blood has run far too thin
|
among the hands of you all
|
and I'm afraid I have nothing
|
left for you
|
|
a symphony of tragedy
|
awakes a watchful eye
|
a serenade of agony
|
pours down from the sky
|
the dancers of catastrophe
|
go quickly spinning by
|
I begin to understand
|
the simple reason why
|
I believe in something strange
|
|
strange this song of mine
|
|
-----------------
|
Strange
|
| Psychotic Waltz |
