The clouds have sunk a way to the earth
Now they lay as fog over the sands
and a mist over the sea
from which our visions have become blurred
Or was it just a dream?

Was there never the fog?
Was it but the carcasses of the men we left behind?
Was it but the blood before our eyes
that has poisoned the grounds
on which we stand, united
but scream 'war'

Is there even a way out
and if there is, is it free
or is it haunted by all the souls
that were lost along the way
that have watched this catastophe like an encore
towards the world's end
--are we it?

But from out of the clouds that depress us
that we created, but now tie us down
a man stands up - a boy
who raises his hands toward the childeren of the earth
and whispers; freedom

As we watch the world
stumble, then crumble, then fall
Is it us, who stand
with the shovels in hand,
that are the bones of our children?
And burry our dead planet
into the universe that once gave us life

Will it be us?
Or will we stand and watch
the ashes to ashes
and dust to dust...