There's no blood on your palms or soles
halo's round your ankles
o one's saviour
and while you push your gods on me
I see what I still see
you're sitting in a trip seat
too late for me to scream
You'd better not believe
better not see
better not believe
'cos they'll only hunt you down
Someone punched a whole through this world
corridor of dead souls
are marching backwards
but you can't do anything to me
you don't see what I see
you're sitting in a trip seat
o need for you to speak