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Death shines in every brittle eyes to lead
the weak ones to the graves.
But men dreamt of ascending above to carry on
themselves in grace.
If we must lay confined to dust, may thoughts
remain carved deep in us to then let the soil open
a brand new way to live, to wake us the fallen
from our ashes.
Our memory must not die despite
the worms tearing us apart.
Our memory shall not fade or burn out.
Truth lies between each pulse of blood
rushing to our hearts but how far is it beyond
our hopes that we've led in?
We'll learn in time, looking upward with a dagger
close to our hearts. But rest assured, the sun will
shine beyond this wall as long as
truth lies between each pulse of blood
rushing to our hearts. Then all we'll own now
is the persistant hope of not being as hollow
and empty as the grave...