as the clock strikes the bell tolls
clang
clang
clang
the steeple has never looked as high as it does
when you are standing on the tip
looking down at the cobblestones
there is no room in the temple
for the sinner
who does not repent
the
clang
clang
clang
will be your last rites
the body of their lord your last meal
the blood of the lamb has turned you into a vulture
even though you do not believe
the prison guards watch from below the tower
they cannot stop you now
the fall of man is upon us
and you are their prophet
the sacrificial dove
clang
clang
clang
three more for the funeral
the flag stands half-mast
but there is no casket
there is no grave
