Song Lyrics
All be hollow, go on cast your lots
Come bestow belief, terre terre haute
It is he who paint by numbers, away his spirit follow
terre terre haute
terre terre haute
It is he who paint by numbers, the beauty of the finished work Wovenhand, wound on string
Flash your language covered on the shelf in dust, flash your language covered on the shelf in dust, you regard him not risen on the ancient horizon
the beauty of the finished work
The beauty of the finished work, away the four winds follow, drawn back stern
It is his fruit, this street was once a creek of a one lord rule i trust
He takes his breath, he takes his breath
judges and ruth
the arrow sings to whom it may concern
Terre terre haute, it is he who paint by numbers, these are stones around the peoples neck
he takes his breath
it is he who paint by numbers
It is his spirit, it is he who paint by numbers Terre, think yourself too hard
terre terre haute
Away the four winds follow, in a state of texas
terre terre haute
he takes his breath