White doves over fields of burning crosses
Make their run through rows of blood red roses
Blue is the moon who filled these empty hours
With shades of grey upon acid showers
.
Troubled is the night reaching for the day
Between the weeks before the month of May
When in one's soul exists an envy of green
Mercury rise to taint the seas once clean
.
In light of doubts that faith can move mountains
Darkness dwells in dreams of dried-up fountains
Where we hear the wild wind whisper and sigh
Preaching repentance for the end is nigh