Oh K.S.S.T.

Blood on the stone
Blood from the stone the young boy kissed it
Pot of gold
Quest for the coast to snag the linchpin
Any day any day we'll meet in dark lands
Heathens say heathens say we'll never meet you

Echoes that mellow the clutches of fallen trees
They don't believe!
Churches are buried so deep that grounds release
Body's trapeze!

Hands in the air hands in the air these ghostly starlings
Anywhere any day we ever dreamed up
What it is anything to never speak of?
Walking lines treading wilds of natures districts

Echoes that mellow the clutches of fallen trees
They don't believe!
Churches are buried so deep that the grounds release
Body's trapeze!