Could death just be a rich man's trick?
Fading trust in straw men
Who do we look to for an answer?
A glancing blow from the window
Met with eyes staring from the void
Flying past my face, it cut the wind and my eyes stung
Whispers trail off
Replaced with mourning
What could we have done?
The straw men burn and blood flows from the ground
The blackness of the void drinks deep without a sound
By what we see our minds are bound
We go along without a sound
Aware of who we keep around
We go along without a sound
We went along without a sound
We went along without a sound...