They all move in these halls a mint on folded clothes, and a gun under pillows and pressed sheets, they'll wed by the willow; he's dying to meet. I'm a fool for what I did, the air all moves as a breath through the rows of stamped streets and in the bedroom warmth or so I was led to believe. Fast forwards three years time... Gather the pictures that race up the stairway the frameworks collapse repent for a new day, and alleiluuya. All things that lie on our chest in a locket our lies suit us best in the breast of our pocket. They're planning attack; from the basement they're planning attack. I'm a fool for what I did, tumbling weeds carrying winds that lie on our chest in a locket, our lies suit us best in the breast of our pocket, and they're dying to meet you. So empty your sheath as you march down the stairway. The frameworks collapse repent for a new day, and aillieluuya. I'll talk you out of your soft accents I'll talk you out of that midnight dress. Don't turn away let the sermon begin. Don't turn away don't turn away.