sometimes those simple things won't turn the trick no more and our self-important dreams they all lie shattered on the floor even the proletariat receives his royalty and as the battle rages on and on i wish it wasn't me and it seems so cruel the last one breaking up until the winter finds it's worth as we glide upon the earth now the trees are swept aside by wind and sheets of rain and the fertile fields once gilded have now withered and refrained she who longs for comfort feels instead a savage thrust and the ashen sky grows ever darker as dawn gives way to dust as we set our dogs upon the earth feast on the dead until no life remains forward towards a pointless end we squander never gain