When our limbs turn to water
And our prayers turn to ashes
And the stars are lights to guide us
The path is not a prophet
Victory is not sure-fire, a sword in stone
When our memory slips
We bleed from our scars, forlorn songs
Deep sadness echoing but we have to move on
Even though it hurts, my heart is torn
And inside I\'m breaking
You move in the same way as throttled rhymes
Playing on a yearning piano.