No, you won’t build your pearly gates with my ivory.
We cannot stay for very much longer.
Our stone frames crack and start to crumble away.
We are on our final march, but these prints we’ve carved in earth will last forever.
Pursuit of all our make sets forth our exodus.
These selfish creatures, who have forgotten how to walk close to the ground, will never forgive themselves if they could understand our pain.
So, we’ll proudly reside in a land of giants, of make believe.
The way it’s always been. The way it will always be.
Yet we hold no grudges, and we accept our fate.
We’ll die as not but forgotten colossi, weighing down minds that feel no shame.
Greed of the vain removes us from memory.
No, you won’t build your wicked dreams with my ivory.
You’d purge the realm of goliath kings only to ease your mind. You’re the burden of beast.
You’d fell the wing from sacred heights to comfort your lies. You’re the burden of beast.
You’d make slaves of the weak and tired to last your meager life. You’re the burden of beast.
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