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...