All in or cease, to preach to the wandering Bare teeth must show them, they make all mistakes alone You’ll find that it’s the season of killing But the covering is thin Still the cage in the corner Has the coroner’s keys in it Born of a visionary He stood back the length of his arms Son of a whereabout land Was purged in the afternoon sun
All rise in clause, don’t let it touch you Form back your feelings, cause it turns their stomachs ill
It’s the season of killing But the covering is thin Still the cage in the corner Has the coroner’s keys in it Case the tragical witness To persuading his demons And the woman he loved ran to the man that denied it
