100 candles, then I'm gone.
Who waits to share my intravenous birthday cake?
100 candles, then to God.
Is it true, the gates?
Who waits? Who waits?

The best is surely not yet to come,
I know from what the spider spun.
Don't keep your candles,
Don't wait for your God,
The web's tears, cried dew in the reborn sun.

100 candles, then he's gone.
His cake is purged from his holy water blood.
100 candles, then to God.
It's the gates for the man
who waits, who waits...

I f***ed my candles, I'll never leave,
I much prefer these words to numbers.
The wick is pricked, burn my blood.
You could find peace at the gates,
but who waits?
Who waits?