They rest on the coast and the tide is impending
We pull at the motionless and static,
But the torrent has crowned their heads
It fills their ears and it makes them ill
They do not stuggle at all
They will speak of the end, and will not prove false
It is time to move on with the weapons of faith and love
Synchronize your steps to the sound of guns
This world is damned to hell and it's a revelation
And this is a shallow grave, and it's on the highest rise
Stand on it's highest crest
I'll set myself on fire
Come on, watch me burn
Poisoned now enough to kill ten hundred men
The harvester's mouth has not gone dry