About the fate of men, of who we are, and who we will become. |
The saxophone played into the night Singing soft angel blue The sky light was flickering off and on A God's riddled switch of the people's demise The rest of them knew what to do With raised hands and arms in the heavens They closed their eyes, they submit To the violent fit, of a storm with no end A pessimistic thought, as the red surrounds Their eyes of yellow and grim Their hands of claws to cut and trim And the saxophone played into that good blue night And the sky changed from blue to black back to dead purple Beaten wounds, and surely they'd make it Raise their hands high, leave it open The saxophone plays tonight, a choir of the forsaken Children of the ash, how they rose Children of the sky, can you fall to save them in time? So one by one, burn those feathered wings Please save us, they shout to the good Lord From the depths they rose, children of ash Feathered sons, Icarus come to them at last They raise their hands and grabbed taloned feet Flying up high, leaving their blood behind The eyes of yellow and grim, looked up yonder And sitting upon a cloud, a bloated man that appeared beast "What is this that I see? What is this trickery?" They snarled and roared, turned their heads and devoured the remains Of feathered sons and abandoned men And as surely as the sun must set As surely as all storms must go As surely as all waves have their breaking point So it was, the sky fell to the ground For an instant a beauty to be seen And this, it gladden the fiends "Hurrah!" They shouted Till they clutched their chests and said We tried our best They raised their hands to what was the sky Bleeding from their mouths they cried "Please save us, good Lord" And with a nod of forgiveness, the beast-man gave With voice he replied, "I have forgiven your actions" "But I have not forgotten your deeds." Then there was nothing Nothing at all Just the dead rotting The fiends clawing, dying slowly In horrible ways, burned alive Purified Broken and trodded down Though they praised, one by one Soul gone, thought gone Sleeping in an Athiest dream |