your order is your anarchy your violence your
peace your gospel is your blasphemy your
famine is your feast destruction is your
architect your woman and your priest I fear
your falling sanctuary's soon to be your
beast I believe in something strange the
prophecies are closing in upon us one by
one the angels of the seven churches maiden
of the sun silent lay the gentle lamb the
prayer and the gun I believe the gates
above are closed to everyone I believe in
something strange Prophets and angels fall
from the altar weak is the grip of the hand of
the brave pray for the bleeding that lie in the
shatters pray for the dying that lie in their
graves submission through guilt and fear is
not what I had in mind and my blood has run far
too thin among the hands of you all and I'm
afraid I have nothing left for you a
symphony of tragedy awakes a watchful eye a
serenade of agony pours down from the
sky the dancers of catastrophe go quickly
spinning by I begin to understand the
simple reason why I believe in something
strange strange this song of mine
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