When we visit at the grave There's no telling what was you And the light takes us away The stormy tension The ill advise A bringer not of truth only lies The necromancer Is not a dancer Too long I've been withhold Crack the shell Flee the church Face the pope But mind his robe Jesus side (only he died) With people who forgives I'm not one of those I make me own high Resting Still abide Though the law is not inside With much sensation I close my eyes And wander to Where we may hide From the church And from the pope Well in mind his robe Jesus hide from all their crimes And the people he forgets I'm not one of those I make me own high