The wall on
which the prophets
wrote is cracking
at the seams
Upon the instruments
of death
The sunlight
brightly gleams
When every man is torn
appart with nightmares
and with dreams
will no one lay
the laurel wreath
when 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.
Between the iron
gates of fate
the seeds of time
were sown
and watered
by the deeds
of those who know
and who are known
knowledge is a deadly
friend if no one sets
the rules the fate
of all mankind
I see is in the hands
of fools.