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lyrics

The morning choir sings

Of dying and waking up to die
in faithful repetition

of savoring destruction
at the tip of serpent tongues

Of tainted lies to fill our
perfectly imperfect hearts

From televised deception
to the pages of our lives
as the ink coursed through the canvas
in the cadence of despair
I found a tremor of my own, mirroring my stare

how I’ve watched
The soaring pulse of Insincerity
become my own.
In time, the lies will turn me into nothing more
than sand and stone

Do I find Truth in my disguise,
the dull side of our Grace sharpening our knives
Do words harbor progress,
without action without heart

CHORUS

Tonight we tread this city
on lawless passion
and hope abound

with my two hands I’ll sing a prayer
in the winter of our dying.

credits

from In Search Of​.​.​., released August 22, 2009

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