All in or cease, to preach to the wandering
Bare teeth must show them, they make all mistakes alone
You’ll find that it’s the season of killing
But the covering is thin
Still the cage in the corner
Has the Coroner’s keys in it
Born of a visionary
He stood back the length of his arms
Son of a whereabout land
Was purged in the afternoon sun
All rise in clause, don’t let it touch you
Form back your feelings, cause it turns their stomachs ill
It’s the season of killing
But the covering is thin
Still the cage in the corner
Has the Coroner’s keys in it
Case the tragical witness
To persuading his demons
And the woman he loved ran to the man that denied it
