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The wall on which the prophets wrote |
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Is cracking at the seams. |
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Upon the instruments of death |
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The sunlight brightly gleams. |
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When every man is torn apart |
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With nightmares and with dreams, |
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Will no one lay the laurel wreath |
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As silence drowns the screams. |
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Confusion will be my epitaph. |
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As I crawl a cracked and broken path |
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If we make it we can all sit back and laugh. |
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But I fear tomorrow |
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I'll be crying, |
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Yes I fear tomorrow |
|
I'll be crying. |
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Yes I fear tomorrow |
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I'll be crying. |
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Between the iron gates of fate, |
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The seeds of time were sown, |
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And watered by the deeds of those |
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Who know and who are known; |
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Knowledge is a deadly friend |
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If no one sets the rules. |
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The fate of all mankind |
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I see Is in the hands of fools. |
|
The wall on which the prophets wrote |
|
Is cracking at the seams. |
|
Upon the instruments of death (if) |
|
The sunlight brightly gleams. |
|
When every man is torn apart |
|
With nightmares and with dreams, |
|
Will no one lay the laurel wreath |
|
As silence drowns the screams. |
|
Confusion will be my epitaph. |
|
As I crawl a cracked and broken path |
|
If we make it we can all sit back and laugh. |
|
But I fear tomorrow |
|
I'll be crying, |
|
Yes I fear tomorrow |
|
I'll be crying. |
|
Yes I fear tomorrow |
|
I'll be crying. crying... crying... crying... |
|
Yes I fear tomorrow |
|
I'll be crying. crying... crying... crying... |
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Yes I fear tomorrow |
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I'll be crying. crying... crying... cry... cry... cry... cry... cry... |
