Dark mystic faith healing powers once found a way. Upon the cold bridge parapet a bloodied boot left for what seemed like days. What about the revolver fired from point blank range? Does this mean the antichrist had a face?

Somewhere between circus and cabaret an audience would gather as if to breathe life into this one remarkably viable lie. From Paris to Miami but with only one grand disguise. She could not dance far enough to escape those piercing dark eyes. And so it appears the truth had been hiding in plain sight.

But what of a fool that would invite spiritualism into his own house? The sovereign family penetrated by an occult Doctor Faust. Within only weeks of a ****** revolution such a leader would surely be cast out. Due to these tragic circumstances the monarchy would never again enter the Winter Palace.

This asylum seeking bloodline must now rule from afar. A private Windsor education was the most imaginable start. Now in a cozy sea breeze California community lives The Boy Who Would Be Tsar. The great Prince Andrew, sovereign curator of American folk art.

The arid lands we’ve been through seem presumptively behind us now. Some man once heard a trickling stream of water and ever since we’ve been chasing it down. Set upon self preservation and yearning for nirvana we eagerly leave behind the crowd. In our desperate endeavour for paradise we keep setting traps because we just can’t help ourselves.

We race toward the euphoria of splashing water on our face, but as we advance, the sound never really goes away. Our numbers falter, and to our own traps we fall prey. We write off our brothers and sisters for we believe they cannot be saved.

How can I maintain this frantic pace? Every step I take I’m creating a new and more complicated hell! It was that moment where I took my mind off the destination that I stumbled myself. Surrounded by friends and family I screamed for help! Alone, I, for the first time noticed the landscape in which I fell…

I stood ankle deep within the cool water of a gentle flowing stream. It was here I denounced that paradoxical man made dream and in this new reality I’ve made my home thankfully. Thankful that with unfailing love you still lead the people you’ve redeemed.

I've been lost losing my mind in an old testament law
So I left that derelict soul at a dark and lonely liberty hall
Jesus Christ whats the point dwelling on such a hateful life
My body could perish in these dreadful mountains anyway and you would have been right

If I've got five more minutes I'll take everything back
Spare these proud and colourful souls from any more passive aggressive attacks
I won't mirror the reflection of a corporate misunderstanding
Our identity doesn't need to create tension with ****** misunderstanding

Don’t tell me about the current state of my death trapped soul
I wanna loose my body over this hairpin turn and never even know
Guide me out from within these winding Virginia mountains
I wanna reach out with your warm spirit grip if you'd allow it

Because whats the point in loosing our mission to a ******* old testament law
We all just want to believe the same stories to believe the same God.

Every week we fill our church ward with joy while we write another cheque to our entrepreneurial Freud.
So strike me down with foreign tongues and anointing oil like an iron lung.
It doesn't matter if our soul was fake when St. Peter's got his foot in the gate...
Everyone here's religious and depressed but won't drill another hole until the tables have been upset.
I've been meaning to tell you the bad taste you acquired over time was an unfortunate product of my pessimistic mind.
And I can't follow this church through fear and mindless thought but that doesn't mean there's no God.

Here in hell digging my own grave
What a splendid metaphor for our North American dream

Tearing up a plot of land for a fistful of gold
And crawling like a greedy maggot to feed my filthy soul
Seven days of chaos with a shovel in my hand
While I strike my neighbour dead for another inch of muddy land
So with this sack of dirt I'll climb
Two shaky rungs at a time
Until I’ve eaten bitterness twenty years
Until I’ve seen faith and wealth both disappear

We were the 21st century hell of the Naked Mountain.
Thank the God of nature for drowning our madness at the bottom of a lake.

Watch for me. I’ll be running with broken legs thinking about the sleeping pills on my fridge and liquor in my sink.

When I said I had time for this I didn’t know we were racing toward a dream.

So I’ll stand at the kitchen window and wait for this greedy crow to take his eyes off me.

I’m not even whole enough to own up to you,
and everything I’d ever need is even closer than he may think.

It doesn’t make me feel any better either that I’m a coward with these things.

But perhaps I’ll make some time.

I haven’t talked to you in a while now, it even feels like we’ve been so deep.

But we really haven’t, and now I can’t stop staring so intently into the drain of my kitchen sink.

Wondering where everything went and why that black crow would remain perched within my periphery.

And while I’m tossed back to the death grip of reality I cannot clamour from my incidental dream.

Perhaps there’s a sliver under my skin, maybe in my brain.

I keep thinking its you,

This is my ministry.