Stage Blood (Bad Actors Epilogue)

I remember orange skies

Ghost lights in the hills at night

The little lambs up there

Who wear their hair like Jesus Christ

Like you can't sacrifice the same thing twice

I still dream of, flash grenades

Prayers that sound like children's games

Tenebraes and Passion Plays in papier-mâché

The prophets of a faith without a name

Revelations come and gone

An ordinary eschaton

Most of us who noticed couldn't bear to carry on

And by the time you read this, I'll be gone

Mother those you love the most

And smother those who come too close

Now certain names when spoken

Taste like fingers down your throat

But those are details no one needs to know

And for us so-called lucky ones

With martyred dreams of dying young

Oh mercy, when it comes

Sometimes sounds like a cattle gun

And all you are is all you've ever done