We shake the rats from our hair
and spit the dice from our mouths
we cripple the twilight
in our fighting hands

St. Catherine is riding out with the black booted mares
and a prayer for the sad and the damned

I born on the burnt earth, afraid and recoiling
In the blood of my mother, a sister and I fell
Our ancestor's toiled from Odessa to Waterfort
But we were not made to find peace with ourselves.

St. Catherine come quickly, across the bottles and the barbed wire
Hang your violin necklace on my tired old bones
I'm down in mire, kicking against history
Like a poor, fucking hobo kicks against home

There are only two infinites though only and the idiot
so I will go north, you'll go with horses
Good morning, St. Catherine, thank you for showing me a little kindness
Good morning, St. Catherine.

Lyrics submitted by ancientvoices

Saint Catherine (Idiot's Waltz) song meanings
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