|
In walking sleep and faded sight |
|
In countless desperate steps |
|
Trudging crossed a dead end world |
|
Clawing to the depths |
|
Competing on the treadmill |
|
But grieving where they stand |
|
An ordinary circumstance |
|
An ordinary man |
|
They gathered all possession found |
|
They consummate their plans |
|
Bleeding at their fingers |
|
From digging with their hands |
|
They all congratulate themselves |
|
But nothing have they done |
|
Their vessels lined up on the shelves |
|
But empty every one |
|
The point of no return |
|
The closing of the door |
|
The coldest days of |
|
Winter The center of the storm |
|
Before the dust has settled down |
|
Before the spiral turns a twist |
|
Before the numbers of your bank account |
|
Are carved into your wrist |
|
One by one we'll walk away |
|
And watch the towers fall |
|
Before the season old in |
|
Winter cold |
|
Makes cretins of us all |
|
The turning of the world |
|
Brings coming of the dawn |
|
And all these days of darkness |
|
Will be forever gone |