The heartless sun is beating a slow dark rhythm in our souls,
We're chasing out the demons, but they keep coming back for more.
In the fear and rising clamour, it's not easy to stand tall,
And we're counting, counting hundreds, counting thousands as they fall.
Out on the endless burning plain they cry,
The voices of the lost souls scream into the sky.
And what you've gained is hard to quantify,
It's such a hollow victory beneath crayola skies.
The blushing sun is falling, the sky's a spreading stain,
Hollow clouds are bleeding endless showers of crimson rain.
With the dying breath of battle, comes the need for someone to blame,
And down among the dead men, they are whispering your name.
Out on the endless shadowed plain they lie,
The requiem of dying, the losers' lullaby.
And what you've gained is hard to quantify,
It's such a hollow victory beneath crayola skies.