THE WALL ON WHICH THE PROPHETS WROTE 

IS CRACKING AT THE SEAMS. 

UPON THE INSTRUMENTS IF DEATH 

THE SUNLIGHT BRIGHTLY GLEAMS. 

WHEN EVERY MAN IS TORN APART 

WITH NIGHTMARES AND WITH DREAMS, 

WILL NO ONE LAY THE LAUREL WREATH 

AS SILENCE DROWNS THE SCREAMS. 



BETWEEN THE IRON GATES OF FATE, 

THE SEEDS OF TIME WERE SOWN, 

AND WATERED BY THE DEEDS OF THOSE 

WHO KNOW AND WHO ARE KNOWN; 

KNOWLEDGE IS A DEADLY FRIEND 

WHEN NO ONE SETS THE RULES. 

THE FATE OF ALL MANKIND I SEE 

IS IN THE HANDS OF FOOLS. 



CONFUSION WILL BE MY EPITAPH. 

AS I CRAWL A CRACKED AND BROKEN PATH 

IF WE MAKE IT WE CAN ALL SIT BACK 

AND LAUGH. 

BUT I FEAR TOMORROW I'LL BE CRYING, 

YES I FEAR TOMORROW I'LL BE CRYING.