| All roads will lead here, all books have an end
|
| No matter our efforts, the time that we spend
|
| Telling our stories and trying to reason
|
| At last when we enter the strangest of seasons
|
| Words mean very little and you can be sure
|
| That this is a place where you have been before
|
| We’ve circled the hollow hills here at night
|
| We’ve seen the same sick visions here in the moonlight
|
| Shadowed talking will only get you so far
|
| Sing louder! |
| Louder! |
| You are who you are
|
| When the music dies down and the night comes alive
|
| You will be there alone
|
| You garrulous people, you poor restless souls
|
| Fear’s had the worst of you, digging your holes
|
| Telling our stories and trying to reason
|
| At last when we enter the strangest of seasons
|
| Like rabbits you’re hiding, running away
|
| From something about to happen today
|
| We’ve circled the hollow hills here at night
|
| We’ve seen the same sick visions here in the moonlight
|
| Shadowed talking will only get you so far
|
| Sing louder! |
| Louder! |
| You are who you are
|
| When the music dies down and the night comes alive
|
| You will be there alone
|
| And then of course, the great silence came is civilzation now quiet from shame?
|
| No negotiation, no talking of blame? |
| This is indeed the strangest of seasons…
|
| Shadowed talking will only get you so far
|
| Sing louder! |
| Louder! |
| You are who you are
|
| When the music dies down and the night comes alive
|
| You will be there alone |