These words softly spoken into an empire's ear
These days are on fire
These days are on fire
In the last days of Rome
We live under a hanging cloud and come up short
And come up short
But these roads will take us, these roads
Anywhere, anywhere past
And words screamed from the top of a precipice to a waiting populace
These days are on fire
These days are on fire
In the last days of Rome, all I see is badlands
We live under a hanging cloud
Past the badlands, past the blight
There is a spot of good fortune
These days won't mean a thing past
Turn them to swords
Past the badlands and past the blight
Still breathing after the worst has left us
In the last days of Rome, all I see is badlands
We live under a hanging cloud
Past the badlands, past the blight
There is a spot of good fortune
These days never meant a thing
And we come up short
But we come up with something
At least so far