Be something that amounts to nothing the threat

A wrecking ball plowing through our karma

We have no confident voice in our ears for tonight

Exist in memory only headline



We have been through change, by the season of the storms

It's irony, the cleansing

Except eccentric faith, to need religion to sit high

Among the elect on march the saints



There's no such thing as a good time for bad luck

As minutes turn to distressed fragmented moments

Reading lips unable to hear the talk

Partake no tangible out in tomorrow



We have seen the change, from the season of the storms

It's irony, the cleansing

With all our lives at stake from at rest to present are sitting high

Among the elect on march the saints



March

March

March

March



We have been through change, by the season of the storms

It's irony, the cleansing

Except eccentric faith, to need religion to sit high

Among the elect on march the saints



On march the saints

On march the saints