They called me the man with the blood of Christ honesty, But tonight I drink with heathens and our, our finest blasphemies. In wine there's truth but in silence there's surrender, A screaming for the silence in stunned suspicious terror. Built a temple in my life and used God to seal the pillars, After twenty years of fighting young heretics and killers. I watch my temple fall to pieces at the first signs of oncoming weather. Fell to my knees like Jesus in the cave, knew I would die. But my lips could only say "I'm not your son, so why have you forsaken me?" There's a hole in my heart but it just makes me unholy. Crucified that night and I walked away with alter-egos, Like the prison priest who preached his dead and buried gospel. With my faith in ruins my duty still breathes strong, I'm a parrot in a cage saying prayers to belong... To a textbook of my crying, lying, dying history. A textbook of my crying, lying, dying history. A textbook of my crying... A textbook of my lying... A textbook of my dying... A textbook of my history.