My watch says six but my clock says eleven.
I haven't bought a calender since 2007.
Time has no meaning in a place so far from heaven.
Where it's people were eager to meet a dead end.

From dark streets of stone to the wind chilled bones, this town is my town.
A place I call home.

Its a land of the dead, from self saddened dread.
Everyone of us bled for a life with the dead.
None of us here are whole in the head.
We're living in here with constant distress.

We've been pushed just too far.
We're stuck in pools of tar.
Although we look to the stars,
We see no angels afar.

As long as we're here,
We'll never disappear.
As the dark draws near,
We still wait for angels to appear.