The grave of our youth is up ahead. And life has become a burden. We move in circles of suppressed despair. Waiting for the sun. And turning stones to find evidence. But it hides in the recesses of our hearts. A written decree of our loss. And we carried no faith in the cross. And the cold years are coming for the victims of a longing. Out through the doors of starvation. And into the rains of damnation. Where the bitter winds are singing for the victims of a longing. We carried along through squalor. With an inborn need to dominate and possess. It gives birth to an anger inside. And we can't control this. The blood of departure in our tracks. Dripping from our emptying vessels. Your hand reached out to hold mine. But you're grasping melting ice. Asleep in the rain, a child once again. And the ghost in my head has forgiven me, lifted his curse upon me.