The acrid smell of burning branches The relics all in ruin Broken blades atop the altar
Cheap substitutions And the tapestry above Torn down, trampled, then rehung Now illegible forever An oracle with no tongue
All of this All of this All of this before I got there
And in a pit behind the altar The bodies of the fallen Heavy tracks up to the lip Just to prove that they were crawling Faces turned toward the sky That they would never see again
Victims of the fallout I have failed you, sweet, young men
All of this All of this All of this before I got thereTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
