Is this the end of the story? All of a sudden our words became silence
As if nothing has recent has been real, easing a life shrouded in violence
Wandering around under the grey skies, until it is time to rest
There's no finding anything around the remains of the past
But talking to one's self helps these thoughts move on for a while
How can we have nothing to show the world after so many years?
There is no great war that will take us away anymore
And we fought to be taken care of in this state, waiting
To be carried off, in the distance of a better time, that never existed
A fantasy, that is shared by everyone else, but who won't be tempted
For a better time, in our lives, times have past
It's too far for us to remember the realization of a simple prayer
When our hardship meant we were living with ourselves in check
A tradition, evolving to thrive as a people depended on everything
Can you remember a stronger person standing before you, waiting to move out?
But there is no one sitting at home, waiting for their grandchildren to return
The fires are out in the cold winter days, like no one has been around in years
As the wind blows, and seeps into the cracks to chill this empty home
The ground is ghostly, not from the past...
No one can explain, and you know everyone has to deny their roots just to survive
Maybe this shell of a hollow person doesn't want the future to remember how it stays alive
A family, back home. But this home never let the dawn in, a regret too far gone to change
Now they live in the dark, belonging to something else
hooked on the sounds so deafening it hurts to stand next to them
Belonging to those watching and waiting for you to fall asleep
Listening for the silence of the breath that gave life to our stories