I've seen a blind woman growing cold outside
An older image of our younger selves
She wears a shard of mirror and a broken sword
Screaming "Look at yourself!"
She is the scales, she is the statue
She is what we should have always been,
but she has long since been replaced by greed
This eternal rain of dust has fallen down upon the scales,
and they're broken, rusted, and brown
Falling down
What gives you the right to take life away?
In the dawning of our darkest hour, who says what's right?
What gives us the right to take life away?
While these images are cutting through a cloudless September sky