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This is how it ends. With everything drawn across the atmosphere like god's own breath. I wish you could have been there to see the old man's heels and the new year's sunrise burning down America. Does it get any better than this? Her fever still won't break and she's waiting for you. Black ice. Brake lights in your eyes, so wide. And it's perfect. How will you keep us without enough lions for every martyr? How can you still say "I am everything you understand and your bold dissent"? Does it get any better than this? Her fever still won't break and she's waiting for you. Black ice. Brake lights in your eyes, so wide. And it's perfect. Wiped out. Is this your perfect world? The pagans down on central, kicking the rain back up. There's angels on high above the power lines. (One of these nights, about twelve o' clock, this whole earth's gonna reel and rock. Things they'll tremble and cry for pain for the lord's gonna come in his heaven airplane.)

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from Dead In Heaven, released May 8, 2009

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Flood The Sun Albuquerque, New Mexico

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