The Tide Pulls from the Moon

So like your Father in the face and blood Terrified and cold And whispers The coming of a cleansing flood For you You hide your Filthy hands from all of us Still unseen and tied What water These killing hands could ever clean Still you run I want to

So like your Father in the face and blood Terrified and cold And whispers The coming of a cleansing flood For you You hide your Filthy hands from all of us Still unseen and tied What water These killing hands could ever clean Still you run Your mothe