Our Poets will curse their own kingdoms, and time will demolish our shame. The Ages will spit on our faces, and songs will forget our true name.
Down there, on the tombs of our fathers, the light of tomorrow will write a truth that has never been written, and then may our passions ignite.
And now you will tell me your stories, of failures I'll surely deny. The sequence that starts Armageddon, cockroaches and monuments wave us Goodbye.
To Hell with the dreams of our childhood, we never looked straight in the fire, our ships never left for new planets, our hearts never spoke of desire.
Down there, on the tombs of our fathers, will blow but a breeze of despair, the desert will welcome it's laughter, and then we will know who we were.
And now you will tell me your stories, of failures I'll surely deny. The sequence that starts Armageddon, cockroaches and monuments wave us Goodbye.