The priest and the pastor loaded up their guns
Holy water in their bandoliers, enough to bless everyone
Their Bibles in their knapsacks, burning hearts upon their sleeves
And over each chest is a bullet vest when they slink into the night like thieves
The imam and the rabbi, the shepherd and the flock
They’re building up the stockpile while the others punch the clock
And there between the waters are the holy city’s walls
And a knife between the bricks to spread the cracks until they fall
You don’t need the light to see
You don’t need my comfort
You only have a handful of straw in your hands
Your worship isn’t much worth
With a thousand arms dancing in the mushroom cloud
In the open wound, in the scream without a sound
In your nightmares, in the closing of the day
There’s no silver lining, there’s no other way
In the holy books, in the spoken names
In the whirling dancers, in the closing prayer
All is spinning like a galaxy slowly round the fire
All is on the ghat in a smoking pyre
The Kaaba lies in ruins, the Vatican’s a heap
Jerusalem is fallen, but all its people are asleep
And overhead with smoking wings flies the Enola Gay
The harbinger of angels calls them to the sky to pray
A killer re-release of a rare solo post-punk LP from 1988 by the frontman of Taste of Decay and Garden of Pleasures. Bandcamp New & Notable Jan 17, 2022
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