Oh, where does it all go? To silent and sorry dreams of what could be, if only...
We're clinging to an aging Earth and pa**ing with the days.
We've found a fallow patch of dirt, so we lay and wait to see if our grips hold or release.
Too tense to speak, we whisper prayers through our teeth for a reason to hope, the strength to hope when none is left for us.
Hold on for a reason to hope, the strength to hold what's hard enough to touch. Hold on.
Oh, where does it all go? To silent and sorry dreams of what could be, if only...
We're clinging to an aging Earth where all alliance fades, like anything left in the dirt, like all fates.
The end's unclean, the rest is sick and obscene.
We dread the means, hang by the skin of our teeth for a reason to hope, the strength to hope when none is left for us.
Hold on for a reason to hope, the strength to hold
what's hard enough to touch. Hold on.
Keep chasing it down (we sink ourselves into the deep)
to find new lows (to find some faith).
If anything else (we could become less-mortal men)
there's still one end (beneath the ground.)
Like a moth to flames, like wolves to sheep, we chase it down, it pulls us down,
down into the Earth where silence is gold that catches all thieves.
Down into the Earth...