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
