Who's to say this pride is something we've earned?
Histories of ages crumpled and burned
Sounds that bleach the clouds, attention gets vague
And the sharpened stones get sharper down the road
How will you feel when all this beauty has come and gone?
Literature made of stone, it whispers the dust of foreign blood
Who's to know why all uncovered love ends turned away?
Care replaced with negligence for things we don't understand
Who's to know the time we have on this thread?
Who's to know the weight imposed on this end?
Mesmerised by notes of humming instead
As the ground gets torn asunder down below
How will you feel when all this beauty has come and gone?
Literature made of stone, it whispers the dust of foreign blood
Who's to know why all uncovered love ends turned away?
Care replaced with negligence for things we don't understand
