The Priest: I wonder what you'll be doing, Come the end of Days. My eyes I think deceive me, looking through this haze. I wake up in the morning and I'm staring at the wall. I don't know how to even start to try and tell them all. The voices in my head are coming Clearly through the haze, Telling me it's time to go, It is The End of Days. The people of this city, they don't know what's going on. My words to them mean nothing more Than lyrics in a song. They live their lives of pity, just like rats into a maze. They don't know it's time to go, it is The End of Days. George the Converted: I've been good, I've been good. Though I didn't go to church when I should. Does that mean the end will come sooner to me? I can try, I can try. But will it help save my soul when I die? What's the plan? My judgement it rests in your hands. The Priest: I wake up in the morning and I'm staring at the wall. I don't know how to even start to try and tell them all. The voices in my head are coming Clearly through the haze. Telling me it's time to go. It is The End of Days.