This is the place where hard lessons are learned
This is the bell that will ring at your burial
This is where somber men shake hands, lowered voices carry
This is where baby learns the song
This is where baby learns
Decay in the grain, decay in the barley
Our veins teem with traces of lead and mercury
Decay in the grain, decay in the foundry
We're perfectly calm in the eye of the storm
This is the place where mercy was fed to the wolves
This is the poetry of the end
Our language is not our heritage, it's not music or the written word
It's the passing of souls 'neath the blade of the ax
Decay in the grain, decay in the barley
Our veins teem with traces of lead and mercury
Decay in the grain, decay in the foundry
Perfectly calm in the eye
Perfectly calm in the eye
Perfectly calm in the eye of the storm
This is the place where hard lessons are learned
This is the bell that will ring at your burial
