A Dance On Holy Ground

Crumbling rooftop steeples sing, and the multitudes still cling

To the clamor of the bells, and their million little hells,

Catching hope like drops of rain on a parched and scattered brain.

  Why deal in fact when there's emotion,

  Why real life when there's the stage?

  Let all your senses rage,

  All your senses rage.

    What can you feel, my love?

    Are you really real, my love?

    It's all of us who sigh

    That teach the world to cry,

      Whirl around,

      Whirl around.

And they seethe from time to time when they think upon the slime

That infests this wicked world; then their banner is unfurled.

Scatter blood like drops of rain, find redemption through the pain.

  Why howl in temper at the notion

  That we have finally come of age

  When all the senses rage,

  All the senses rage?

    What can you feel, my love?

    That makes it real, my love?

    It's all of us who try

    That teach the dead to sigh,

      Whirl around,

      Whirl around,

      Whirl around,

      Whirl around around around around around around...

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