The Messenger is standing at the gate
Ready to let go, ready for the [bad word] 
Too late for whispers, too late for the blush
The past is Mercy when the future's glow 

Kneeling journey dressed in a cloak of shadows
The hunting's grim for the innocent eyes [bad word] #39;s prey is a cup of sorrows
But faith is colours for the humbling cries 

The Pilgrims are gathering and the marching band, the marching band's howling [bad word] is the flag a righteous man, a righteous man will hold
The Pilgrims are gathering and the marching band, the marching band's howling [bad word] is the flag a righteous man, a righteous man will hold 

The Spirit is over town, waiting for me to hit the floor
Blooming white sky for the voice of one calling tonight
Tonight fate is the red crown, the red crown around your door
Time is scattering the seeds of the mourning daylight