There's a full moon over this ancient town,
A clock face the colour of the sky,
And every street that we walk down,
belongs to the house where my father died.

Where prisoners march in lockstep with each other,
Reavers test the limits of their raid,
Each dragging their dead weight from the other,
While I claim my place, center stage

I've been thorwn by the trashing of his going,
Chained to his unseen stride,
I have walked in lockstep without knowing
My indifference my only disguise.

Now it comes through me like an injection,
Anonymous pain throbbing real inside,
And every pulse in my body,
Belongs to the house where my father died.

I won't catch his spirit in the candle,
Honour a life in its guttering glow,
Death comes through these streets like a scandal,
Bent up and beaten a bitter body blow.

And in bars and in shaded back rooms,
Those who can't cope just get high,
But every ´place this drink takes me to,
Belongs to the house where my father died.

There's a full moon over this ancient town,
Headlights numb the banner of the sky,
Rain rages the steadings and the opends ground,
And I'm a child fighting shadows with tears in my eyes.

And the valley cannons in thunder,
Trees brawl beneath the bruising of the sky,
Like sentries shield the lake from my wonder.
And I'm as helpless as a child hiding from lies,

And the face from my mind is faidng,
I count the wounds for the very first time,
Tonight there's going to be a reckoning,
I'm entering the house where my father died.