I

saw

the

sun

rise

for

the

last

time.

I

wtched

it

leave

the

Earth,

and

leave

us

all

be-

hind.

All

the

poor

child-

ren

will

ne-

ver

know

the

strength

of

their

in-

no-

cence;

how

quick-

ly

it

goes.

God's

spe-

cial

lit-

tle

crea-

tures.

Could

they

have

saved

us

from

our

poor-

ly

plot-

ted

ar-

ro-

gance?

Now

they

in-

he-

rit

the

land,

the

black-

est

of

all

plauges.

No

one

will

vi-

sit

their

graves.

Not

e-

ven

dirt

can

be

saved.

Is

it

so

foo-

ish

to

think

that

we

don't

all

sink

to

the

same

place?

Ple-

agh!

And

to

the

tra-

ve-

lers

I

ask.

Will

you

show

me

Hell?

Have

you

met

the

de-

vil?

I

want

to

meet

him

too.

I

want

to

ask

him

a-

bout

God.

Why

he's

a-

ban-

doned

you,

and

why

he's

left

me

a-

lone

with

no-

thing

left

to

love.

Why

he's

ta-

ken

the

world

from

us

while

he

hides

a-

bove.

And

the

trave-

lers

say:

Son,

are

you

so

blind

you

can-

not

see?

What

lit-

tle

from

the

world

can

you

of-

fer

me?

What's

e-

ven

left

to

take?

What

kind

of

ar-

gue-

ment

can

you

make?

What

are

you

real-

ly

try-

ing

to

save?

'Cause

all

I

see

is

a

world

in

de-

cay.

I

wish

the

cold

would

break,

but

the

winds

keep

co-

ming

to

daw

back

the

light.

The

dead

weep

for

the

world

to-

night.

The

dead

weep

for

the

world

to-

night.

And

I

see

him

now,

as

the

sun

sets

for

the

last

time.

A

re-

flec-

tion

of

my

bro-

ken

self,

bur-

ning

in

the

lake

of

fi-

re.

We

all

car-

ry

our

de-

mons,

and

we

make

this

world

our

Hell!

This

world

is

our

Hell!

The

dead

weep

for

the

world

to-

night.

This

world

is

our

Hell!

The

dead

weep

for

the

world

to-

night.

The

dead

weep

for

the

world

to-

night.