The hall in which no prophets wrote
Is lacking so it seems,
And on those ailments there's no breath
No sunlight can be seen.
My reverie it does impart,
My despair and my dreams.
But each one has to seize with teeth,
Their silence so it seems.


Delusion's my aphrodisiac,
As I fall down that down that old spoken path.
If we make it back then we'll sit down at last.
But I hear tomorrow I'll be sighing,
Yes I hear tomorrow I'll be sighing,
Yes I hear tomorrow I'll be sighi-i-i-i-ng.

-Instrumental -

Among the desperate straits I wait,
My need of time not known.
It's slaughtered by the words of those
Who know and some who don't.
Knowledge here's a useless end,
Unless you follow rules.
The fate of my decision, see,
I hope is not by fo-o-o-ols.


-long instrumental -


The hall in which no prophets wrote
Is lacking in my dreams.
And on those ailments there's been breath,
And sunlight can be seen.
Those reveries are sweet at heart,
No nightmares haunt my dreams.
And each one has their laurel wreath,
Now silence sounds in streams.


Seclusion won't be my epitaph.
I will crawl way back to spoken path,
We will fake it, and we can sit back and laugh.
But no fear tomorrow of me crying,
Yes no fear tomorrow of me crying.
Yes no fear tomorrow of me crying.
Cryiiiiing,
Cryiiiiing.....fade