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(Kirk Windstein, Pepper Keenan, Phil Anselmo)

Be something that amounts to nothing the threat

a wrecking ball plowing through our karma

we have no confident voice in our ears for tonight

exist in memory (the) only headline

(chorus)

We have been through change, by the season of the storms

it's irony, the cleansing

except eccentric faith, to need religion

to sit high among the elect

On march the Saints

There's no such thing as a good time for bad luck

as minutes turn to distressed fragmented moments

reading lips unable to hear the talk

partake no tangible out in tomorrow

(chorus)

We have seen the change, from the season of the storms

it's irony, the cleansing

with all our lives at stake, from at rest to present

are sitting high, among the elect

On march the Saints

MARCH