I can hear them ranting
Like a choir of angels, those cunts
Not singing nor dancing here;
All eyes down for the casting
Spell trough scraped dry
Practising our sincerest sorrows;
All full faced to the grind of stone
The drag of that inert through toil of chained wrought sinew
Ragged faces turned up to the rain
Staring down; drawing down the rain
Staring down; drawing down the rain
Drawing down the rain
Drawing down
All our ears are open / all our eyes are smiling
Gracelessly receiving empty threats of heaven
As grist to and from these dark Satanic mills
A barren wasteland dreamt through streets of prescription mist
There is no attenuating this
No attenuating this
Holes in the heart of this city
Holes
Drawing down the rain
Heaven calling; calling through sewer-gratings