In the Garden (Collecting Souls)

Sitting in-between the black and white
Part of him is in the gray, the angel’s on his way
Giving up for small amounts of pain; your sense, it multiplies
It’s reaching out to claim it’s rightful grave
Take my hand…
I’ll bring you home…
Riding on the edge of sanity
Playing with a cigarette next to the gasoline
Never stopped to pay attention to the common sense direction
Ignorance, gone up with you it seems
Take my hand, take my hand
Oh I’ll bring you home…
Take my hand, take my hand
I’ll bring you —
Time to bring you in to me
And take away the agony
Resolve you from the dead who would bury you with lies
Faced with all the suffering
Through the door and back again
Pull you from the common and the shit you call 'Your life'
And I’m standing
Right in the open here
And it’s freezing
Stealing the life of
All that is breathing
Created order
For things to see
Pleasure
You’re just another
Trophy of mine
Take my hand…
I’ll bring you home…
Things are never really what they seem
A broken line is on the phone and no one heard his scream
Don’t have much to do, sorry
Offer this alternative to you
Take my hand, take my hand
I’ll bring you home…
Time to bring you in to me
And take away the agony
Resolve you from the dead who would bury you with lies
Faced with all the suffering
Through the door and back again
Pull you from the common and the shit you call 'Your life'
And I’m standing
Right in the open here
And it’s freezing
Stealing the life of
All that is breathing
Created order
For things to see
Pleasure
You’re just another
Trophy of mine
God help you die
Alive…
Oh things are never really what they seem
Life into me, it is never ending
And it’s dying off, into the misery
And as often as you tell it to me
'Let God help you die'