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My salvation was so near
But it does not assuage my paralyzing fear
That trench was to be my astral womb
for God knows it was nearly my tomb

I prayed, I prayed
Bury me at Ypres
With a coffin made of mud
In full battle array
I pray, I pray
to St. Cocaine
I wait, I wait
for virgin white embrace

I am brought back from the dead
To live again amongst the well fed
Bid to forget the hell
The Hell that I learned to love so well

Death’s wail
Haunting Paschiondale
With an elixir mostly of blood
This magic shall not fail
I pray, I pray, and I pray
to St. Leda Cocaine
I wait, I wait, and I wait
for her swanlike embrace

A long march toward a certain death
What doesn’t kill me only feeds my paranoia

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