I speak from a place
Where some talk of signs
Tired superstitions
To drown out the wise
Dark clouds have gathered
To block out the sun
All of our sins
To judge us in turn
Mothers and daughters
Fathers and sons
Would any be counted
To take up the cause
If we can't imagine
That the hour is near
Then all of our sins
Won’t fade with the tears
Do you hear the drums
Of the warmonger's charge
Who feeds on the blood
Of our youngest and brave
Throw oil on the fires
Turn friend against friend
All of our sins
Consume us in flame
Where some talk of signs
Tired superstitions
To drown out the wise
Dark clouds have gathered
To block out the sun
All of our sins
To judge us in turn
Mothers and daughters
Fathers and sons
Would any be counted
To take up the cause
If we can't imagine
That the hour is near
Then all of our sins
Won’t fade with the tears
Do you hear the drums
Of the warmonger's charge
Who feeds on the blood
Of our youngest and brave
Throw oil on the fires
Turn friend against friend
All of our sins
Consume us in flame
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