The fragile keep secrets gathered in pockets
and they'll sell them for nothing; a cheap watch or locket
That kind of gold washes off.
And the sad act like lepers; they stick to the shadows
and long to ring bells of warning to tell of their coming
so that the pure can shut their doors.
And the angry are animals, senseless and savage.
They act without order in logical lapses.
They stain their mouths with blood.
So take my hand; this barren land is alive tonight.
The corn has grown stalks that form a wall too high,
but the wind carries sounds that I can't hear from beyond that line.
Then the stalks begin to sway.
Oh stay with me Arienette, until the wolves are away.

Well the wicked are vultures and they bake in the canyons.
They circle in sunlight and wait for their victims
to collapse and call to them.
And the desperate are water; they will run down forever
as they soak into silence, mend up together
in a dark and distant, dark and distant place,
So don't leave me here with only mirrors watching me.
This house it holds nothing but the memories.
And the moon, it leaves silver but never sleep
and then the silver turns to gray.
Oh stay with me Arienette until the wolves are away.