To many times has the truth been unwritten
I sit here estranged to the outside world
who am I but lost in space
all you hero kings sit silent in your reproach
i hear the winds of change and they are singing to you
become what you have yet to be
concede to these actions
breath truth into shallow ponds
so people rise rather than drown
the swan song
a song of great sweetness
said to be sung by the dying beast
and the deceased march on
beneath the waves
wondering gypsies of lost souls
collect your insignifcance
and cloak it behind pride
she waits for a predestined ending
wanting something more than what
was promised
sometimes you don’t get what you bargin for
this is a call to all the sunken treasure troubadors
our song must be heard
even if we don’t know why or what we are singing
it is the lost who will one day find our way
it those who proclaim to be found
who are forever lost