The Church Within
Album - 1 marzo 1994 - Debaser id 69887

From the corner is where it starts
Torn in half like a dollar bill
Happy mourners’ window heart is
Bitter still
Truth’s fictions stranger than any lie
Smooth convictions danger plan of
Twisted night

Does the pope shit in the wood?
He might be damned hoarding all his ill-got
Goods with Uncle Sam
Greener grass on the comfort side your
Easy choice
I’m leaning fast into the twisted night
One voice

At the bottom’s where it ends
No between, catch life’s riddles fates
Winds send
Depraviteam so low, it’s been real
A total fiend, by his hand a lonely man
Looking for a streetside queen

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Climate of Despair (03:04)

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Mourning (04:05)

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The Obsessed • The Church Within

Not wear black
Be it not of the same faith
Living trials can’t be won
In the end the hands will be held back
In the eyes September sun
The magic’s gone
Tempting fate with the surest of hands
Come to be a profession, to walk with
You in a mind of many lands
Has been my sole obsession
The magic’s here
Always cherish and always hold
Not in health but in sickness
And in the realm when all is said and told
There is no equal likeness
The magic’s gone

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