The wall on which the prophets wroteIs cracking at the seams.Upon the instruments if deathThe sunlight brightly glea
ms.When every man is torn apartWith nightmares and with dreams,Will no one lay the laurel wreathAs silence drowns the screa
ms.Between the iron gates of fate,The seeds of time were sown,And watered by the deeds of thoseWho know and who are known;
Knowledge is a deadly friendWhen no one sets the rules.The fate of all mankind I seeIs in the hands of fools.Confusion wi
ll be my epitaph.As I crawl a cracked and broken pathIf we make it we can all sit backand laugh.But I fear tomorrow I'll be
crying,Yes I fear tomorrow I'll be crying.