The upper hand
Hear them symphonies
From blossomed skies
They enter the mind in disguise
And penetrate the world in spite
Their soil may ever last
And rise among the waves
But leave no trail behind
To get followed by dead
Desolation seems to gain an upper hand
Seems to praise a stand of separate ways
See him set his feet in blood and bend
Away from the words that he seduces
And relate to the mourns he resents
