The preacher said a prayer
Save every single hair on his head
He's dead
The minister of hate had just arrived too late to be spared
Who cared?
The weaver in the web that he made
The pilgrim wandered in
Commiting every sin that he could
So good
The cardinal of grief was set in his belief he'd saved
From the grave
The weaver in the web that he made
The high priest took a blade
To bless the ones that prayed
And all obeyed
The messenger of fear is slowly growing, nearer to the time
A sign
The weaver in the web that he made
A bishops rings a bell
A cloak of darkness fell across the ground
Without a sound
The silent choir sing and in their silence
Bring jaded sound, harmonic ground
The weaver in the web that he made

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