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We lay the night in anguish, snakes drawn out by the tide


The compass of decision falls always on one side

But many went before us, and still the cries are clear


There is no beauty here, just the stench of wine and beer

We save no souls


We break no promises

We can do nothing more than move on headlong through the gloom


The thorn between our lips is the missionaries tune

Men with open arms turn their faces half away


Observe as we approach that we have not come to save

We stand as thick as vines though the fruit is torn away


There is no beauty here, friends, just death and dark decay

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Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.