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We are born of stone |
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And etched by wind |
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Cast aside to live or die |
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We are the pawns in our own game |
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Like refugees |
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Of silent wars |
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We step on ever-shifting ground |
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Promoting what we undermine |
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For countless days |
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We walked alone |
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Directionless and vulnerable |
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Sitting targets wearing smiles |
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No one of us will go unscathed |
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By private battles we have braved |
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A vicious circle we have built |
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Constructed from our shame and guilt |
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The flags we wave |
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Are set afire |
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To warm the bones of infant dreams |
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Even as our present is set ablaze |
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The tinderbox |
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We sit upon |
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Decays in churning mists of fog |
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And crumbles down into the sea |
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No one of us will go unscathed |
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By private battles we have braved |
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A vicious circle we have built |
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Constructed from our shame and guilt |
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We lie embraced |
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In the arms of dawn |
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The fading echoes of pointless time |
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Statuettes of |
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Ignorance |
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And even as |
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The clock hand sweeps |
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We pay no mind to where we are |
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Surely we're not allowed to die |
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No one of us will go unscathed |
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By private battles we have braved |
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A vicious circle we have built |
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Constructed from our shame and guilt |
