A sheep herd burned in the road, monotonous sibilant calls
House in the dirt, coal eyes felt no pain with the fire of inner visions
He shrieked in descending flames, yelling in his religious abode
Crowned boldly without reprieve for his drunken soul
God, why have you forsaken me
Ad lama sabachtani crying on Everest megalithic of lithe souls burning
Have you got a moment to hear a match-lit forlorn rag, these words burn me in my throat
In the form of quasi-knowledge, I can still hear the shrieks of madness
Moloch, Moloch, Moloch and neon traffic lights shine across the square
I'm at the crossroads of my winding life searching for truth
Speaking about conformism while understanding the crushing penury
Leek, green grass, that's all these sheep can eat
The foggy scene killing my joy frescoed in her mind without wheatish flax seed
There were no seeds to sow, the land was fertile and we could sit for another folly time in this sold-out show
Watch the thunder die with the snow as the student takes Thunderdome