When you know that it's wrong, yet you still move it along. And you find all in all, for yourself it's better off. There's something you create that won't ever wash away. Well you knew it was wrong. It is wrong.
So you buy and you sell the means of keeping you from hell. But the Ghost on your trail can't seem to neglect a step. There's a noose in his hand with a shape to fit your neck. Keep on running from hell. This is hell.
Ain't it something when everything falls apart? The ground you build upon determines if you'll fall. It's slow motion as I watch it from the hall all come undone. It's the past that leaves you on the floor.
Forgiveness comes with a humiliating clause. It's the last thing you want, but the first to move forth. Now your demons are sewn to your shoulder clearly shown. It is your futile refrain from vulnerable.
As you fall, you faintly hear a familiar song, hum along, "hallelujah." Now he's gone, as is the time you now have lost. We die alone, hallelujah.