Every step that we tread,
The dead are behind us;
Throwing shadows out over our heads,
And they live far in front of us.
No oceans left to cross, no mountains left to climb,
'Cause that's what I've been told,
And it's got so hard to look around
And see just who can save you, if you don't have a pot of gold.

Was there ever a time
Like this?

As the noise of the past
Builds up into a crescendo,
The layers [bad word] makes their plea
Amplified a million times or more
But our heads just can't cope, as we fall
Into the arms of the waiting mystics,
Books burning, barrels turning--
billion wasted futures light up the night sky.

Small hopes flash past the [...]
While foreign forces wait and pray,
And a fear of the future is so deep in our hearts,
That they'll all but destroy ourselves
Like the centuries-old feuds
Being updated with high-tech weapons
In the end it's not the future,
But the past, that'll get us.
I always believed [...] like this cost lives,
That's why I was always in line for the sacrifice,
But now my eyes point ahead
Away from the ghosts of the dead.