Pushing forth, chasing fantasies that justify euphoric dreams. Seeking better than I have ever seen. The pristine city in the crystal sea where the faultless dwell. There is a storm descending, in a not so perfect world, not so perfect after all. There is a storm descending, in a not so perfect world, not so perfect after all. Here they are! People screaming as the towers crumble down. Romance stifling is the storm. Lightning overhead displaying what we'll never control. Is this the best that they have found? Perfection within the walls that crumbled down? Is this the best that they have found? Perfection within the walls that crumbled down? With need to suffer, the need for despair to break down the common bond between the man and this ancient earth. The search for our own perfect son. Lightning strikes the clock at the center of the town just as the Isle of Atlas invaded. With each strike the elders wince, their faults exposed to a swarm of angry nomads. So the scholars moved to say, that this city can't fall... The scholars moved to say, that this city can't fall into hell.... If this was the perfect land, the depravity I've viewed within can't bridge the gap to justify my actions in this journey. A storm reveals the hell that dwells within a faulted pretense. Hearing from the heart... Hearing from the heart of a broken perfect man, claiming the buildings were constructed on the sand. And the land was never fertile, the walkways never gold, his eyes slipping away. Is this the best that they have found? Perfection within the walls that crumbled down? Is this the best that they have found? Perfection within the walls that crumbled down?