These are the fasting days
Gonna' break our will
Let Christ out of the money box
Let our hearts be still
We'll crawl on our bellies now
And make a wound to heal
Dry blood on the potter's soil is our holy meal

Take a page, print your name
Tack it to the prayer wheel
Spin it 'til it makes the sound
Of a thousand voices crying
Every name that's on the prayer wheel
Lamentations up to heaven
Make some small enough to wear
Around our wrists, reminders there
Of the promises we made

These are the gathering days
Of clouds and pages
There are icons on the subway walls
Prophets and sages
The wheel will stand upon a mound of dust and ashes
Our backs are pinned against the wall of thorns and lashes

Now these are the numbered days
The final stages
We live in caves upon the mountain called
The Rock of Ages
And there will be no signs
Like statues with the bleeding hands
Just a fire burning in the soul of every man

These are the promises we made, etc.