Martyr Dream

Faceless,

In the darkened safe of me again.

Is there any form or place that's made for three?

So they tell me,

To feast,

Apon the skin apon the life,

Of this living scene.

The martyr's dream is shattered by his mirror,

By his faith.

And if you seek to leave this world,

You will be forgotten,

Just lay there rotten.

These watchers help us if we're wrong.

This hollow, hollow me.

See this war,

And see this man,

As he leaves this world,

In his dreams.

The wind becomes the call of my name.

They fail to see the sunlight through the rain.

This hollow, hollow me.

Sacred age so ancient, entombed.

From the ashes of angels,

Come sleepers with the masks of men.

Sacred age they're waiting for you;

Again.

I don't believe in you,

Anymore,

Remember the days, the war torn winds,

When i was yours.

But now there is no more time,

For theses ideals to be alive.

And can they see us,

They don't believe us.

And they're waiting for us to fail.

As i stand here,

On my own again.

But they don't hear.

They don't hear this call.

Sacred age you're ancient, entombed.

From the ashes of angels come sleepers in the masks of men.

Sacred age,

They're waiting for you,

Again…