Console me in my darkest hour 
Convince me that the [bad word] is always grey 
Caress me in your velvet chair 
Conceal me from the ghost you cast away

I'm in no hurry, you [bad word] 
And tell your friends I'm losing touch 
Fill their heads [bad word] of impending doom 
It must be [bad word] 

Console me in my darkest hour 
And tell me that you always hear my cries 
I wonder what you got conspired 
I'm sure it was the consolation prize

I'm in no hurry, you [bad word] 
And tell your friends I'm losing touch 
Fill the night with stories, the legend grows

Of how you got lost 
But you made your way back home 
You sold your soul, like a Roman vagabond yeah

I heard you found a wishing well 
In the city 
Console me in my darkest hour (in my darkest hour) 
And you throw me down

I'm in no hurry, you [bad word] 
And tell your friends I'm losing touch 
Fill your crown [bad word] 
Impending doom, it must be [bad word] 

But you made your way back home 
You sold your soul, like a Roman vagabond

And all that now you got lost, but you made your way back home 
You went and sold your soul, an allegiance dead and gone 
I'm losing touch