You cast off the chains that tied and bound You're sick of their talk and won't carry their crowns You hollowed the space where they darkened the ground With weary precision you lowered 'em down
Oh preacher, believer Saint with a fever You timid only son You better wipe that dust from the tip of your tongue And sing what ain't been sung
Cause I've seen better days and I've seen the end I saw a grown man break I saw a changed man mend And I've been in deep Way over my head I heard the virgin weep While the savior bled
Oh preacher, believer Saint with a fever You timid only son You better wipe that dust from the tip of your tongue And sing what ain't been sung
I cast off the chains that tied and bound I'm sick of their talk, I won't carry their crowns A hollowed space where they darkened the ground With weary precision I lowered 'em down
