So many call here
On their way down below
And I'll be here burning
Till the end of time

Thoughts of the falling
Burn from the ceiling to wall
And I'll be here waiting
Till the end of time

And nothing here is safe and nothing here is sacred
And the thing you care for most will crawl away
Wounded as you tell it you love it,
Into the dark recesses
And hollowed out corners of nothing

And the last touch is always the hardest
And the last touch is always the same
And the last look is the one that will kill you
And the last touch is the one that will drive you insane

And as the night fell
And the gutters swelled with the roar of the pissing city
And the falling balling and crawling below
He sat shaking uncontrollably by the window
Looking over the pestilent street
And he sat and he prayed
And he prayed and he sat
And he prayed to St. Augustus, St Brigid, Padre Pio,
Saint of all sinners, saint of all fools
Saint of every fucking dying crawling thing beneath him,
Shouting out the names of the dead and forgotten

And he cried out, "For Christ's sake help me!
For Christ's sake get me out of here!
God of all sick things get me the fuck out of here!
Get me the fuck out of here!
Get me the fuck out of here!
Release me!"