Из альбома: The City That Sleeps
Skin, Cloth and bone
They will be taken down to the ferryman
An old crooked lie
The fibres were underneath her fingernails
Old and grey, into the grave
The taste and the name
Have all but been swallowed now from the tip of his tongue
The sound of her voice
The screaming stopped ringing as he drifted away
Never repaid the lives he took away