The Church - Destination

^FOur instruments have no way of measuring this feeling Can never cut below the floor, or penetrate the ceiling ^AmIn the space between our houses, some bones have been discovered But our procession lurches on, as if we had recovered

^CDraconian ^Gwinter ^Amunforetold ^COne solar ^Gday, suddenly you're ^Amold ^CYour little enve^Glope just makes me ^Amcold ^CMakes desti^Gnation start to un^Amfold

^FOur documents are useless, or forged beyond believing Page forty-seven is unsigned, I need it by this evening ^AmIn the space between our cities, a storm is slowly forming Something eating up our days, I feel it every morning

^CIt's not a re^Gligion, it's just a tech^Amnique ^CIt's just a ^Gway of making you s^Ampeak ^CDistance and s^Gpeed have left us too w^Ameak ^CAnd desti^Gnation looks kind of ^Ambleak

^FOur elements are burned out, our beasts have been mistreated I tell you it's the only way we'll get this road completed ^AmIn the space between our bodies, the air has grown small fingers Just one caress, you're powerless, like all those clapped-out swingers