There is a hell so old The papists had it papered over Field of Elysium Where hornets swarm as thick as clover Antediluvian The men who dwell within that creche Conceived before the word Was transubstantiated flesh Amongst their number Haunt the alchemists of old Those who turn the water into life Can transmute your dreams to gold To fashion halos for the host That strike the staffs of warring popes That hang the heretics, on high From flax and golden-braided ropes And you will know that a life Is but the breadth of a stone's throw That a hanged man's eye sees nothing In the dark of the belly of a starved crow Hear the murder calling on the natural man? What rough beast slouches towards Bethlehem? Sister Sofia Crowned in a Witch's Gowan wreath Gathered the darkness in her hands And she tore it with her teeth She slipped her hand into the wound To address a bloodless void Where all light is crushed in singularity And the "word" has been destroyed... ...and scattered into the sea Like the ashes of a dead king Like the fears I set free return to me Upon the feathers of a black wing Let the Empyrean sing... ...that the curtain's falling on the natural man What rough beast slouches towards Bethlehem? You've got to gather all the ones you love You've got to get out while you can Those who seek to rule Will soon disseminate your plan When we fall, we fall forever Clawing, blind, at the atmosphere Cut the throat of the black bellwether For the end is here Oh, why must this burden fall to me? No, there are none so blind they cannot see No, you who turned your face away from me Who let the sky fall down When they fall, the fall forever Clawing, blind, at the atmosphere Cut the throat of the black bellwether For it all ends here There is a ledge so steep A dark so deep, in leagues, descending Inside, the godhead sleeps Consumed by nightmare, never ending People bow and they pray And they scrap when they say That you hold in your hand How can such be endured When it's all but assured There are gears greased in blood At the heart of the plan? Stringing man upon rope Making foe of our friend Making sport of all hope At the edge of a world without end Hear the murder calling on the natural man? What rough beast slouches towards Bethlehem?