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"Draw the curtains It's time to sleep Everything is not as it seems Silent hands of winter winds Are drawing near... Fold the tension slowly Wait beneath the tear The tarnished gold Through the window pain Lies dead upon the floor While unseen eyes Crouch low behind The walls so thin... The pious curse the holy So evening curse the day [CHORUS] And on the 8Th day... I should have known its name years consume the hours Turning black to gray Light the fire My dreamer's son You are the only one To walk alone In this desperate maze Whose price has just begun Drowning lies In bottles of time Shipwrecked for no one to see Reaching as far To other worlds Besieged by numbered days Besieged by numbered days..." [After we receive the gift of life we inevitably grow old, giving birth to new] [life in a desperate attempt to preserve some part of ourselves for] [eternity.-Lyle] |