your order is your anarchy

your violence your peace

your gospel is your blasphemy

your famine is your feast

destruction is your architect

your woman and your priest

I fear your falling sanctuary's

soon to be your beast

I believe in something strange



the prophecies are closing in

upon us one by one

the angels of the seven churches

maiden of the sun

silent lay the gentle lamb

the prayer and the gun

I believe the gates above

are closed to everyone

I believe in something strange



Prophets and angels fall from the altar

weak is the grip of the hand of the brave

pray for the bleeding that lie in the shatters

pray for the dying that lie in their graves



submission through guilt and fear

is not what I had in mind

and my blood has run far too thin

among the hands of you all

and I'm afraid I have nothing

left for you



a symphony of tragedy

awakes a watchful eye

a serenade of agony

pours down from the sky

the dancers of catastrophe

go quickly spinning by

I begin to understand

the simple reason why

I believe in something strange



strange this song of mine