I'm always ready for a second round
I'm always homing in before I'm cracking down
I have pretty figures in my head
I have pretty lilies in my hand
I seem to find sometimes
That the rope I climb is covered in blood
And then I find myself sliding down
I guess it's nothing to cry about
Am I spilling blood over hallowed ground?
Am I wringing my hands while you're swinging around?
I'm just doing my job, you seem to forget
To be honest it's a burden and it brings me down
One more body along the road
And the hand that was laid upon it was pressed by mine
The blackest star lights the way down
I guess it's nothing to cry about
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