Weather Machines (The)
Stains of Saints
Time's all been figured outAnd you've left absolved of doubtBut I'll be the first to curse your haloAnd I'll be the last to turn the tablesLast stop: mercy for your crutchA backward consequence of touchI'll be the poison on your arrowBut I'll be the last to know you careI'll be the washed across your shallowsAnd I'll be marched across your gallowsAnd I'll be cursed in all the fablesBut I'll be the last to turn the tables
Aus Songtexte Mania