In the white washed cancer ward with my hot blood running wild. I see the pain behind your eyes and the search for a reason. And the knowing and the fear of the passing season. Now please give me strength to cut and to keep our secret. Please give me strange to cut. Ch: That the things we love may remain here still. There is time to wait and there's a time to kill. I see your outstretched hand through the closing door. But it's a far better thing I do than I have done before. And so it seems that murder's not so hard - I've eaten flesh and blood each day. And if I believe the things I write through the passing season. Then with a rifle in my hand and with a thousand reasons. I'll wait far above the crowd in the summer sunshine. And history changes now forever. That the things we love may remain here still. There is time to wait and there's a time to kill. From the barren land come the seeds of war.