There is no beauty here, friends, just death and dark decay
The thorn between our lips is the missionaries tune
We break no promises
Our men with open arms turn their faces half away
We save no souls
We save no souls
We can do nothing more than move headlong through the gloom
We stand as thick as vines though the fruit is torn away
But many went before us and still the cries are clear
Observe as we approach that we have not come to save
We break no promises
We save no souls
There is no beauty here, just the stench of wine and beer
