Sighing on the embers of a fire That must be allowed to die The bed of coal, it must run cold in time But your body heat brings life Crying in a river running dry Made your eyes a clouded sky But if you're a god Made from a God Made from a god Let your whispered word be divine
If vultures can be soul birds, let it die Leaning on the everlasting sigh Creator, you create monstrous men From the ink that clots your pen Running on a sentence that must end So your bones can rise again If vultures can be soul birds, let it die Leaning on the everlasting sigh