The
past is a funeral forgotten for the dead of the now.
Once so hollow,
our reality is so hollow.
We're all losing our way, gone out of memory.
All we can represent,
the froth from the lake.
We feel the sound of evil as our voices wail.
Let's go home where the cobbler is.
The funeral mine finds us.
Killing
our fight.
Oh my place,
the last thing I'll ask your name
God in your eyes
To build a future to
The
It's
tiny
only
our
sake
rid
