Текст песни The Weather Machines - Stains Of Saints

Time's all been figured out
And you've left absolved of doubt
But I'll be the first to curse your halo
And I'll be the last to turn the tables

Last stop: mercy for your crutch
A backward consequence of touch
I'll be the poison on your arrow
But I'll be the last to know you care

I'll be the washed across your shallows
And I'll be marched across your gallows
And I'll be cursed in all the fables
But I'll be the last to turn the tables