Pity the old man waiting for his life to begin

Empty volumes lining the shelves

Eloquently metaphor his existence

Pity the young girl

Who scribbles in the sand

Noon tides that bathe the marsh

Will wash her dreams away

Wipe the sleep from my eyes and pour me another glass

Revolution seems to agree with you

Desecration of pretty memories

Do tell me about it

I love stories where I'm a figure of grandeur

And the forces of evil are ready to make a deal

Their voices slide through your mind like razors through silk

Subtle blades splitting softness

We're all gonna have monsters rising to the surface before it's over