| Powerless I stand before you
|
| The tides of shifting sands of time
|
| Cracks, holes and empty promises
|
| Like that writhing skin of mine
|
| Scattered are the ashes of this momentary sigh
|
| Held by the throat I am left on my own
|
| Disciple of titles, I have searched for a sign
|
| And thus I will leave no heir to the throne
|
| In retrospect almost all that we do is a waste
|
| Meaningless cells in a meaningless pace
|
| Monuments of forgetfulness
|
| Surrond me like halos of flies
|
| Regrets that bear no fruit at all
|
| Are all that’s left before I die
|
| Scattered are the ashes of this momentary sigh
|
| Held by the throat I am left on my own
|
| Disciple of titles, I have searched for a sign
|
| And thus I will leave no heir to the throne
|
| Suit for a king is this effort
|
| Remained behind glass, out of sight
|
| No one is immortal
|
| If our work is embraced by light
|
| Scattered are the ashes of this momentary sigh
|
| Held by the throat I am left on my own
|
| Disciple of titles, I have searched for a sign
|
| And thus I will leave no heir to the throne |