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Called To Arms
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Vintage Pharisee
Your veins boil with the wine of hell
You are the toast at the demon feast
You hide with your robes and rules, your relics and rosaries
You've fed off of innocence for far too long
Now you are the harvest
Now you are the harvest
Begin the reaping
Now you are the harvest
You conceal your heart-
Where dark fire burns-
With the riches from your flock
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But held to the light that you never knew
Your intentions are clear
Your darkness burns brighter than the fear in your eyes
As you cry “Lord, Lord”
Like many times, many times before
With desperation, this is the first
This is the first time, the very first
Lord, Lord, hear our cry
We're all desperate for the first time
Lord, Lord, hear our cry
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