Текст: Gravenhurst. Saints.

At seventeen I heard my calling
To suffocate with my embrace
Murder ten to save a hundred
Drown the whole world in my faith

From a long line I descended
Immaculate, an empty womb
And the spur is desperation
Maybe God is desperate too

In watermarks and lonely places
A private measurement of time
In made up names and blacked out faces
I will trace my blood line