Theater Isn't Popular in Hell - Grant Kirkhope, Eric Ulloa, Remy Germinario & Ben Bonnema

Blackness awakens Visions come alive Seeing through darkness With borrowed eyes Death survivor Take me higher Reunite my soul Whisperer of truth I trust in you To make me whole Sun Come shine my way May healing waters bury all my pain Wind Carry me home The fabric of reality is tearing apart The piece of me that died Will return To live again Feeling myself slip away Suddenly dreaming awake Hidden memories Flooding back I will not grow in the light Until I pass through the darkest caverns of my heart Dance with fire Spirit guide erase the world outside Messenger of truth I trust in you Transform me now Sun Come shine my way May healing waters bury all my pain Wind Carry me home The fabric of reality is tearing apart The piece of me that died Will return To live again And at last the time has come To unite again as one To the power of the Earth I'm calling Crossing bridges in the sky On a journey to renew my life Shaman take my hand Sun Come shine my way May healing waters bury all my pain Wind Carry me home The fabric of reality is tearing apart The piece of me that died Will return To live again And at last the time has come To unite again as one To the power of the Earth I'm calling Crossing bridges in the sky On a journey to renew my life Shaman take my hand

Sometimes, for a moment of bliss And the passion, we're craving There's a message we miss Sometimes when the spirits left alone We must believe in something To find if we've grown Tragic reflex, shattered calm Static progress, senses gone Numb awareness, final psalm Swept away with the tide Through the holes in my hands Crown of thorns At my side drawing lines in the sand Sometimes, if you're perfectly still You can hear the virgin weeping For the savior of your will Sometimes, your castles in the air And the fantasies you're seeking Are the crosses you bear Sacred conflict, blessed prize Weeping crosses, stainless eyes Desperate addict, faith disguised Swept away with the tide Through the holes in my hands Crown of thorns At my side drawing lines in the sand We fabricate our demons Invite them into our homes Have supper with the aliens And fight the war alone We conjure up our skeletons Enlist the den of theives Frightened from our closets Then sewn upon our sleeves In the stream of consciousness There is a river crying Living comes much easier Once we admit We're dying Sometimes, in the wreckage of our wake There's a bitterness we harbor And hate for hatred's sake Sometime we dig an early grave And crucify our instincts For the hope we couldn't save Sometimes a view from sinless eyes Centers our perspective And pacifies our cries Sometimes the anguish we survive And the mysteries we nurture Are the fabrics of our lives Swept away with the tide Through the holes in my hands Crown of thorns At my side drawing lines in the sand