Jesus And Tori - The Number Twelve Looks Like You

The soiled ground for the sacrifice

Dispelled, crippling, faulty holyland

I am your martyr, your stigmata

The tears turn to blood beneath my eyes

My body listens (As you whisper)

My fingers bend, bend, bend (As I’m nailed to your cross)

The splinters etch, etch (Hearts in my back)

I denounce this crucifixion

I demand another sacrifice

A cast shadow over this narrow hill

Pulling my fingers from these nails

There will be no use

For a second coming

A cast shadow over this narrow hill

Pulling my fingers from these nails