• Follow me and sing about the world you lived in,
    a bleak and dismal wasteland and it alway's has been,
    your days are growing lesser and your eyes are thin.
    You'll leave us someday.

    I don't think that soldiers should be allowed to leave us,
    living in a world torn to a million pieces,
    blacker than the ashes of a thousand grievers,
    colder than snow.

    I believe that dreamers are just human sonnet's,
    made of silver paper with love's faults upon it,
    speeding through our hearts like baby cardboard comets,
    twisting our sanity.

    So have you ever felt like all you're doing is running,
    living on a land that they all thought was stunning,
    never really took the time to miss your honey,
    you're too far away.