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 risen 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