Sitting in the center
of these stolen arts
there is nothing so cold as the truth in your heart
the plots and the plans like blowing sands
like nothing more than clouds from distant shores
We strike the ground like falling rain
we fly skyward to live again
From here there is one way
wholly out and through
there is nothing so hard
as a chance for the truth
the hopes and the fears fade from the years
like no more than a voice lost in the night
Silent words once spoken
Hear them once again
there is nothing so still
as the peace in our time
The sights and the sounds of time worn down
like no more than a scream of echoes past
We strike the ground, we fly...