The Number Twelve Looks Like You
Jesus and Tori
The soiled ground for the sacrifice
Dispelled, crippling, faulty holyland
I am your martyr, your stigmata
The tears turn to blood beneath my eyes
My body listens (As you whisper)
My fingers bend, bend, bend (As I'm nailed to your cross)
The splinters etch, etch (Hearts in my back)
I denounce this crucifixion
I demand another sacrifice
A cast shadow over this narrow hill
Pulling my fingers from these nails
There will be no use
For a second coming
A cast shadow over this narrow hill
Pulling my fingers from these nails