I've walked along the walls of this old town for hours without meeting a soul The wind shrieks hard against the stone with a loneliness of feeling I have never known. But I've seen Wormwood over Albion; I know he points me home. Full of sedition, and wrapped in a threnody beyond my control Stuck in new Bethlehem, I caught young blood in a bowl I drank so deep that I slept for a thousand years, fed through aching dreams by a star ringing in my ears Wormwood Over Albion.