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Orbit Culture
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The Haste to the Pyre
In the end of it all
There's no chance of being
Another you or me, still we're trying
To be so different from all, we forget ourselves
Our closest, my friend. We're sliping away.
Before the end, there's
so much at stake.
In the future's aim.
The things we hold
close We're giving away.
To time and it's pace.
Away.
Bleeding from the heart and soul.
Leaving nothing in our bowls.
Searching answers south to north.
The compass only points at gold.
In the light of the sun
There's no certainty
That burning fire will stay.
Before the end, there's
too much at stake.
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For us to throw it away.
The things we hold
close We're giving away.
To time and its haste.
Away.
Bleeding from the heart and soul.
Leaving photos in our homes.
Searching answers south to north.
The compass only points at gold.
When you see them go,
them leaving this world.
You'll realize how much you've lost.
Only in dreams you see them, but your tongue won't let you.
Speak out your mind or whatever's on you.
You fall.
You fall back in, into the sky of ours.
Down to earth, our home where
the living are born in darkness.
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