With one shot, as blood runs black, demons storm up the stair way to heaven,
All of my fears turn into phobias.
So walk this way, see the dirty little secret.
It is this calling that tells us, we are not alone.
And all that remains of this sweet emotion is this darkened heart that is tattered on my sleeve.
Before the break of dawn, in these dying days, we stand in the pouring reign as nothing more than a black label society.
Just riders on the storm in a blacked out world, bowing to a suicide messiah.
But no more, for beyond the purple haze in-a-gagada-da-vida, the wind cries Mary.
Whispers, I hear you.