Sons of Perdition - Psalm of Withering | Текст песни

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• Sons of Perdition
• Psalm of Withering

See that girl weeping silent in her cold empty home? Watch her pretty flesh wither and drop from the bone. Now smell the tears of that boy as they paint his poor face. His heart stumbles and it falters with complete lack of grace. Hear the man cursing softly as he dies in his bed, in the clutches of the cancer that blooms in his head. And feel the soul of that lady get sucked through the gates, though her body treads onward down a path that she hates. Now taste the blood on the teeth of the only one you love. Well the preacher on Sunday like the farmer on Monday and the shepherd out some other day, know they ain't exempt. So don't waste time with your tears because it's worse than you fear, you gotta get right outta town before your own day gets here. Now sow those seeds in that ground that grows so fallow and cold. You know they'll never be found. I say they'll only grow mold, 'cause there ain't gonna be no big harvest this year. I tell you, time to settle debts, it is drawing so near.

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