“…epitaph…”

“The wall on which the prophets wrote,
is cracking at the seams…

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Upon the instruments of death,
the sunlight brightly gleams…

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When every man is torn apart
with nightmares and with dreams…

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Will no one lay the laurel wreath
as silence drowns the screams?

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Between the iron gates of fate,
the seeds of time were sown.

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And watered by the deeds of those
who know and who are known

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Knowledge is a deadly friend
when no one sets the rules.

The fate of all mankind I see
is in the hands of fools.

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Confusion will be my epitaph.

As I crawl a cracked and broken path.

If we make it…

we can all sit back and laugh.

But I fear tomorrow, I’ll be crying.

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I fear tomorrow…

I’ll be crying.”

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