The End Of Days
It's all a little strange, will no-one heed the call?
Who accepts the orders? Who dignifies the call?
It's all a little odd, a little few and far between
Fools and bloody minds all, chasing their routine
We're living low, survival of the beast
Regard the dogs from distance, at the celebration feast.
We have few dreams, we have fewer hopes yet,
We have red eyes in the morning, we have silence
Not one single note to set unto this orchestra of loathing
And the sour truth dawning
And we will not forget this pain
At the end of days.
It's not open to debate, it's delivered signed and sealed
Thrown into the rising tide, or buried in a distant field.
No compunction in the frame, reviled and swept aside
Squared in common circles, predictably denied.
We have few dreams, we have fewer hopes yet,
We have red eyes in the morning, we have silence
Not one single note to set unto this orchestra of loathing
And the sour truth dawning
And we will not forget this pain
At the end, at the end of days...
Shall we visit you in your splendid place
Shall we share a glass and see your face
Until we scratch back to the dirt
And bury ourselves in the cold grey hurt
Shall we visit you? Shall we visit you?
At the end of days, at the end of days...
We have few dreams, we have fewer hopes yet,
We have red eyes in the morning, we have silence
Not one single note to set unto this orchestra of loathing
And the sour truth dawning
And we will not forget this pain
At the end of days.
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