| That your friends hid beneath the same flag as your foes |
| was a blessing to fire at will |
| and out of the trenches a new day arose |
| there’s strength in these broken arms still |
| so burn all the poems and rip up the books |
| the words will white out as you sing |
| to carry the weight of the lives that you took |
| because life was a beautiful thing |
| now I cannot recall mountains rsen to fall |
| one day we must awake from this sleep |
| what’s left of the day will eventually come down as rain |
| the weaver’s hands tell me how your mouth has spun |
| all the promises left to fulfil |
| but you’ve chosen your weapon, the duel is on |
| and there’s truth in unspoken words still |
| what’s left of the day will eventually come down as rain |
| and though they all look the same, every drop has its number and name |
| what’s left of your plans will all drown to the sound of their hands |
| this might be your last chance |
| what’s left of the day will eventually come down as rain |