Crazy Arm - Of The Tarantulas

A black scab grows where you bite
But I'll bring your hiding place to light
Your father's envy and conceit
Your secret tyrant appetite
I'd be a pillar saint not a whirlpool of revenge
Thus spoke the more uncommon sense
Good and evil, rich and poor
Mean and noble, born to war
Free me from this vengeful hour
Free me from this holy fire
Again it drives me to mankind
It drives the hammer to the stone
What are the gods to me now, dust on statues long gone
A body rotten with disease
I'd be a pillar saint not a whirlpool of revenge
Thus spoke the more uncommon sense
I would travel long and far just to get to where you are
I'd be a pillar saint not a whirlpool of revenge