made them all before I will now rise from the ashes Don't call me pretentious I'm sitting here making my own rules And if I fall from the ceiling You
: I will now rise from the ashes. Don't call me pretentious. I'm sitting here making my own rules. And if I fall from the ceiling, You'll be down there
all before Chorus: I will now rise from the ashes Don't call me pretentious I'm sitting here making my own rules And if I fall from the ceiling
to fight we got to feel we got to know that this is real And I'm still searching for the day If we're going to win this race We gotta rise up open our
seems to matter You?ve outgrown all the anger You know that it?s not the answer Rising up from the ashes You know we never meant to burn Rising up from the ashes
we used to spend Was wasted on you Rise through the ashes with a song to remember Rise through the ashes with a song to remember Rise through the ashes
There is bullshit on your breath. I can't believe that we are all fine. Nothing but worries as the rivers run black. Polluted pastures on grey landscapes
Black smoke rise and fill the blood red skies, man made dust designed to blind our eyes, screened illusions masked in blatant lies, black smoke rise
of the scheme; the ones in the labcoats, the shadowed technicians, the gilded proprietors of the last seas of green. Drain the excess from the bloated
and a quick look around shows us everything that those unformed hands have changed. Our peaceful days are filled with the enemies of virgin skies, and the fires from
A kick to the head, a punch to the face, a bat to your knees, an eye swollen shut. There's no free ride in this part of the country. No glory in this
I see no fascination, I see no spark of light. Their toys are showered down like acid rain, but the beams will corrode, and we will fall.
They spin in the sky their web of wires. They launch their toys to be the new towers. They send their children to scorch their brothers, and all is
In a free land, we watch our victories, killing our annoyances as the troops march away. We talk of no more, for there's a price to pay. In a free
their sequenced affairs, angels will scatter the land, fluttering, flying like moths to the flame. Rising to march on the eastern plague, rising to march
Etched in the woodwork, the faint histories, the private shadows of secrecy. Their lineage, their words tell us nothing. Their voices caress, and lick
Shockwaves resound never felt in the bastions of madness, the sun sets unnoticed again. In a hell of gray, a flood of locrian noise, full of deafening
Beckoned to the frontlines, to ease the pain from starving stomachs. No floods of tears, no stench of death on the screen. Beckoned to dismiss, chosen
