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