In time we find the truths behind the lies.
And over our dead bodies are the flies.
Buzzing, hovering, discovering.
Buzzing, hovering, decaying.
We take a deep breath and try to move on.
But we are too late, it's all gone.
Whispering, breathing, leaving.
Whispering, breathing, deceiving.
Leaves drift down on silent winds.
A child's cry, no better than beating on tins.
Left, right, down.
Left, right, drown.
Left to wallow in self pity.
It's no wonder they left the city.
Time stands still.
Time stands alone.
A child's cry for help, no better than beating on tin.