Couldn't be made...
Dirt like this
Rather be the spit
For a thirsty dog
Shatter my veins
The frozen blood won't feel
As I scatter myself across
Some summer field
It's denial
To believe in nothing
No deals with faith
And faith...alone
Comfort is...
As comfort does
And comfort comes to those
Who rise above
Yes it does
One thing for certain,
Last time I checked,
The cult of truth
Fallen from its place
Dress it up,
And call it what you will
There's a cult of love
Standing on its face
There's a cult of love...
On its face...