"Draw the curtains

It's time to sleep

Everything is not as it seems

Silent hands of winter winds

Are drawing near...

Fold the tension slowly

Wait beneath the tear



The tarnished gold 

Through the window pain

Lies dead upon the floor

While unseen eyes

Crouch low behind

The walls so thin...

The pious curse the holy 

So evening curse the day



[CHORUS]

And on the 8Th day...

I should have known its name

years consume the hours

Turning black to gray



Light the fire 

My dreamer's son

You are the only one

To walk alone 

In this desperate maze

Whose price has just begun



Drowning lies

In bottles of time

Shipwrecked for no one to see

Reaching as far

To other worlds

Besieged by numbered days

Besieged by numbered days..."



[After we receive the gift of life we inevitably grow old, giving birth to new]

[life in a desperate attempt to preserve some part of ourselves for]

[eternity.-Lyle]