march over the fallen while the flames are closing in
the last messiah and a faith so grim
and no one will grow old
The last red dawn lies upon the crowd
and a shroud of decay lying on the ground
i turn my head
a sadness comes over me then
something i could not feel before
i knew it had to end
but i had strenght to try some more
all is gone
the last messiah still goes on
ever marching on
the wheels are spinning
it is so cold
freezing below ground level
hollow mindless slaves
unborn
metal whips are stinging
flaying the skin
skinning the soul
and never will the sun
ever be seen again
i read somewhere
sometime long ago
in a book, i think it was called
about socrates and the power of the self
and of voltaire and his ways to escape
lastly i heard the words of Nostradamus
and how he foresaw that this would be the end
when all is said
and all is done
no one cares about the dying sun
there's no one left
no cross to bear
the dirt that's hidden everywhere
the scent of the lotus has been lost
for an eternity i searched in vain
watched the leaves shiver and cease
my immortality a faithful curse
ironic that i should fall by my own hand
the prophetised saviour