Holy, holy, holy God we felt divine Two outscretched arms a blessing I remember well Four cool walls were a person A calcereous shell The real flesh never could serve Us children like those bricks Echoes resonated from The keepers of the house Consequently they killed Our real mother that day And my children will tend to ask questions like When are we gonna die? My children will tend to ask questions like When are we gonna die And there's no connection between Giving birth to me and making me survive Yes my children will tend to ask questions like When are we going to die? And there's no connection between Giving birth to me and making me survive Broken broken broken The pieces are alive