Lay your body down.
Come crawl beneath the dirty sky.
It is the year of the knife
And the knife has no loyalties.
They'll take our women as their wives
In secret and in royalty.
We must kill them to survive
To live and love eternally.
Who knows what we'll find?
The fear no longer haunts me.

Under the last of the Anunnaki Kings & Cowboys.
Where the winter's made of ash
And ash from the color grey.
Surveying the new arrivals
And feeling the pulse of the rain.
Old smoke & bones
Haunting the cloaked pages of the Bible.
Ask Doyle, he knows.
Sweat and sin
Been dogging him for miles.
A gutted moan.
Some chiseled stone.
A law that been broke like bread
Between two lovers in exile.
I saw my angel fall.
Picked her from the wrist.
Cleaned her dirty dress.
All the salt was stone
And pillared bone
As we turned our gaze back
To the fire...

There is no time to cry
For this is the Year of the Knife.