A prick, a prod, it′s the end of the line
The wrong kind of dream that water still isn't wine
Gone Golgothic, my friend, it is bent, it is torn
More than clear that you′re here to suck it up from the floor
The rabble they grope, in gladness they crush
My every ideal but I'm no longer touched
I'm whiter than milk, a plant, a seed
A growth agape, the reason you plead

A stiff, a crutch, it′s the end of a prime
The end of a stump, it′s a waste of your time
It's anaemic to taste, it is stale, it is done
It is blight, it is clear that you′re here to be shunned
They cattle, they stoop, in madness they rush
I froth at the mouth but I'm no longer touched
I′m whiter than milk, a prat, a weed
A bum, a flash, the source of all need
It's your dead town spice, it′s the size of your mum
It's a break in the keel, it's awake, it is numb
Still my brother insists that we stay on the march
Through his vision of pain to the end of my heart

(Visons of pain)
To the end of my heart (Visons of pain)
(Visons of pain)
To the end of my heart (Visons of pain)
The lid, the sty, the press and the prang
The softness of sin, the back of a hand
A temple of kicks at the mouth of a night
A corona of lust that is gone with the light
A loin, a crack, a knack, a sham
It′s a year, it′s a day, it is under a gram
The tip of a tongue all lathered in spite
And a mind that won't stop, it′s the flood, it's the flood
Beneath, beyond, before, be-twixt
A claim, an heir your future won′t fix
Still my brother insists that we stay on the march
Through this vision of pain to the end of my heart

(Visons of pain)
To the end of my heart (Visons of pain)
(Visons of pain)
To the end of my heart (Visons of pain)

I got a sore throat in my gut
And a headache in my loins