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Their shadows burn against the sun.

Their horses run, their horses run.

Acidic oceans bountiful.

The trees are ripe with rotten fruit.

In the sadness of their homes,

they shout into the cracks in the walls.

You can hear it in their songs;

the sadness of their homes.

They feel it in their bones,

they sing of a future past and gone.

They weave it into songs;

the sadness of their homes.

Dark structures

Stretch heavenward,

thick are the clouds

that cloak the mountain tops.

Structures of steel,

basalt towers.

Thick are the clouds

that cloak our minds

In the sadness of our homes,

we shout into the cracks in the walls.

You can hear it in our songs;

the sadness of our homes.

The fires in their bones will guide them home.

The sadness in their songs will then be gone.