Your god is a dead generation
Hope, a rising star
But nothing can change
The course of the moment
Where voices turn to scars

Faces complex, Simple dialect
Spirit’s convene, Face me
Judge and Jury in hand
Palm face up, Facing me

The stones are broken at cast
Hypocrites feel the burn
That final moment at last
Rest in peace my dear friend

Are we alone, for silent judgement
Should we be proud, broken?