Psychotic Waltz Strange
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
