Pri-

vileged,

a

cho-

sen

few.

Blessed

with

our

time

in

hell.

Wit-

ness

a

di-

vine

vi-

sion,

the

day

we

all

fell

still.

Rap-

ture

the

dy-

ing

age,

a

shat-

tered

ho-

ur-

glass.

Wrath

of

the

war-

ring

gods

and

so

this

too

shall

pass.

It's

on-

ly

get-

ting

worse,

not

worth

a

mo-

ment's

re-

gret.

Each

dawn

a-

no-

ther

curse,

e-

very

breath

a

twis-

ting

blade.

What

will

be

left

be-

hind

in

the

a-

shes

of

the

wake?

An

ill

wind

blows

this

way,

the

edge

of

the

en-

ve-

lope

burns.

For-

bear-

ance

and

my

ven-

geance,

pay-

ment

for

your

in-

tent.

Fear

and

death

in

the

wings,

in

thrall

of

those

fal-

len

from

grace.

Pet-

ty

is

as

pet-

ty

does,

wit-

ness

the

mass

dis-

grace.

God

for-

bid

you

read

the

signs.

Watch

for

mean-

ings

bet-

ween

the

lines.

Ge-

hen-

na

has

now

ar-

rived,

no

hind-

sight

for

the

blind.

Your

trust

has

been

mis-

placed,

be-

lieved

the

lies

told

to

your

face.

Be-

came

a-

no-

ther

ca-

sual-

ty

and

now

it's

too

late.

You

fi-

nally

made

it

home,

draped

in

the

flag

that

you

fell

for.

And

so

it

goes.

The

a-

shes

of

the

wake.

It's

on-

ly

get-

ting

worse.

It's

on-

ly

get-

ting

worse.

It's

on-

ly

get-

ting

worse.

It's

on-

ly

get-

ting

worse.

It's

on-

ly

get-

ting

worse.