So many call here | |
on their way down below | |
and I’ll be here burning | |
till the end of time | |
Thoughts of the falling | |
burn from the ceiling to wall | |
and I’ll be here waiting | |
till the end of time | |
And nothing here is safe and nothing here is sacred | |
and the thing you care for most will crawl away wounded as you tell it you love it, | |
into the dark recesses and hollowed out corners of nothing | |
And the last touch is always the hardest | |
and the last touch is always the same | |
and the last look is the one that will kill you | |
and the last touch is the one that will drive you insane | |
And as the night fell and the gutters swelled with the roar of the pissing city | |
and the falling balling and crawling below | |
he sat shaking uncontrollably by the window looking over the pestilent street | |
and he sat and he prayed | |
and he prayed and he sat | |
and he prayed to St. Augustus, St Brigid, Padre Pio, | |
saint of all sinners, saint of all fools | |
saint of every fucking dying crawling thing beneath him, | |
shouting out the names of the dead and forgotten | |
And he cried out, “For Christ’s sake help me! | |
For Christ's sake get me out of here! | |
God of all sick things get me the fuck out of here! | |
Get me the fuck out of here! | |
Get me the fuck out of here! | |
Release me!” |
So many call here | |
on their way down below | |
and I' ll be here burning | |
till the end of time | |
Thoughts of the falling | |
burn from the ceiling to wall | |
and I' ll be here waiting | |
till the end of time | |
And nothing here is safe and nothing here is sacred | |
and the thing you care for most will crawl away wounded as you tell it you love it, | |
into the dark recesses and hollowed out corners of nothing | |
And the last touch is always the hardest | |
and the last touch is always the same | |
and the last look is the one that will kill you | |
and the last touch is the one that will drive you insane | |
And as the night fell and the gutters swelled with the roar of the pissing city | |
and the falling balling and crawling below | |
he sat shaking uncontrollably by the window looking over the pestilent street | |
and he sat and he prayed | |
and he prayed and he sat | |
and he prayed to St. Augustus, St Brigid, Padre Pio, | |
saint of all sinners, saint of all fools | |
saint of every fucking dying crawling thing beneath him, | |
shouting out the names of the dead and forgotten | |
And he cried out, " For Christ' s sake help me! | |
For Christ' s sake get me out of here! | |
God of all sick things get me the fuck out of here! | |
Get me the fuck out of here! | |
Get me the fuck out of here! | |
Release me!" |
So many call here | |
on their way down below | |
and I' ll be here burning | |
till the end of time | |
Thoughts of the falling | |
burn from the ceiling to wall | |
and I' ll be here waiting | |
till the end of time | |
And nothing here is safe and nothing here is sacred | |
and the thing you care for most will crawl away wounded as you tell it you love it, | |
into the dark recesses and hollowed out corners of nothing | |
And the last touch is always the hardest | |
and the last touch is always the same | |
and the last look is the one that will kill you | |
and the last touch is the one that will drive you insane | |
And as the night fell and the gutters swelled with the roar of the pissing city | |
and the falling balling and crawling below | |
he sat shaking uncontrollably by the window looking over the pestilent street | |
and he sat and he prayed | |
and he prayed and he sat | |
and he prayed to St. Augustus, St Brigid, Padre Pio, | |
saint of all sinners, saint of all fools | |
saint of every fucking dying crawling thing beneath him, | |
shouting out the names of the dead and forgotten | |
And he cried out, " For Christ' s sake help me! | |
For Christ' s sake get me out of here! | |
God of all sick things get me the fuck out of here! | |
Get me the fuck out of here! | |
Get me the fuck out of here! | |
Release me!" |