No talk of the future So far from forever Approaching tomorrow But hoping for never Cursed, we are cursed Condemned to die from our birth
How many footsteps in line Have flattened this land? How many prophets have died Right here where we stand?
Call, some call Is answered in warning us all
These "signs" which surround us Imagining most of Some commitment urges us To bring down all around us Wish, this wish Bent on ceasing to exist
How many questions have tried To uncover some truth? How many prophets have lied Inventing the proof? Call, some call IS answered to sentence us all To sentence us all...
Call, some call Unanswered, awaiting our fall
So many footsteps... Too many prophets... So many questions... Too many prophets... Too many prophets...