We are the shadows the linger on the sunlit sand,
We are the silhouettes that cling to others,
but what of us,
when those that we live for are gone,
when those that we live for forget to care,
when those that WE live for die;
What becomes of us then?
We are the shadows that mourn the truth,
We are the silhouettes that uncover the charade's,
but what of us,
when the truth haunts the lies,
when others live the charade we disgust,
when all is lost to the lies and the figures we cling to are corrupt;
What becomes of us then?
They are the crowd of begotten figures of mindless zombies lost forever,
They are the truth bound in lies and vengeance,
but what of them.
When their charade is discovered,
When the lies that protect them are stripped, leaving them bare all truths exposed,
When are is revealed;
What becomes of them then?
They are the crowd of sufferers,
They are the innocent exposed,
But what of them.
When the final truth is laid bare, no charades, no lies just the inevitable truth.
When what they held dear turns to ash.
When there is nothing left for them to live for;
What becomes of them then?
We are all the lost and bewildered,
We are all the cheated and manipulated but we will all see the untainted truth,
But what of us all.
When we are all left stunned by the devastation,
When we are all confused by our illusions,
When there is no tomorrow without suffering;
What will become of all of us then?
