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I can hear them ranting
Like a choir of angels, those cunts

Not singing nor dancing here
All eyes down for the casting
Spell trough scraped dry

Practising our sincerest sorrows
All full faced to the grind of stone

The drag of that inert through toil
Of chained wrought sinew
Ragged faces turned up to the rain
Staring down, drawing down the rain
Staring down, drawing down the rain
Drawing down the rain
Drawing down

All our ears are open
All our eyes are smiling
Gracelessly receiving empty threats of heaven

As grist to and from these dark Satanic mills
A barren wasteland dreamt
Through streets of prescription mist
There is no attenuating this
No attenuating this

Holes in the heart of this city
Holes

Drawing down the rain

Heaven calling, calling through sewer-gratings.

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