歌词
We questioned the gods
And the hollow earth alike,
And found not in the faces of men,
Nor in the spirits of beasts,
Not in the passing of restless waves,
Nor the narrative of the soul,
A place to call our own.
Here on the sepulchral foothills
At the end of the world
That seemed to us plagued and diseased,
Here we found our tired feet had taken us,
Into the coldest night,
Away from the wretched creed of man.
Under a sunless sky,
Adrift in the ecstasies of apocalyptic euphoria,
On the heights of despair,
Here we came to bear witness
To the graves of our failed gods.
We crawl under the rubble
And dig up the bodies,
And find not in the bones of our forebears,
Nor the ghosts of the past,
Not in omens that speak of things to come,
Nor the calling of great tragedy,
A place to escape from ourselves.