So like your
Father in the face and blood
Terrified and cold

And whispers
The coming of a cleansing flood
For you


You hide your
Filthy hands from all of us

Still unseen and tied
What water
These killing hands could ever clean

Still you run

I want to be changed from

The shadow and the tomb
Like water rushing over us
The tide pulls from the moon


Your mother
The passing of a silver ring

Oversized and cold
This specter
Will walk the halls of every seed

From you

I want to be changed from

The shadow and the tomb
Like water rushing over us
The tide pulls from the moon

The tide pulls from the moon
The tide pulls from the moon.