The steeple shadows stretch across the cracked pavement

A hungry wind is howling through the hollowed out basement

I saw a mother weeping by the iron gated fence

While the kings in their counting houses talk of defense

The skyline is jagged like a broken glass jar

And nobody remembers where the holy places are

They say there is a shepherd who is counting every sheep

But the wolves are in the garden while the guardian is asleep

I walked down to the river but the water turned to oil

The seeds of our kindness are rotting in the soil

The headlines are screaming about a brand new war

I cannot find the logic in the ancient lore

The silence from the heavens is a heavy iron weight

While we are left to gamble with the dice of bitter fate

If the blueprint was perfect why is the structure so frail

Why is the ship still sinking with a hole beneath the sail

How can I reach for a hand that never appears

When the dirt in the gutter is washed by our tears

The throne is sitting empty in the middle of the storm

While the coldness of the world becomes the only norm

If the watchman is watching then he’s turned his head away

Leaving us to wander in this endless shade of gray

The judge is in the pocket of the man who owns the mine

They’re trading our tomorrows for a vintage glass of wine

The children look like ghosts with their faces pressed to glass

Waiting for a miracle that never comes to pass

Corruption is a fever that is burning through the bone

And every soul is shivering and standing all alone

I asked the stone cathedral for a reason to remain

It offered me a collection plate to bury all the pain

The gold leaf is peeling off the icons on the wall

While the weakest among us are the first ones to fall

The sky is just a ceiling made of lead and heavy cloud

And every tattered banner feels just like a funeral shroud

The silence from the heavens is a heavy iron weight

While we are left to gamble with the dice of bitter fate

If the blueprint was perfect why is the structure so frail

Why is the ship still sinking with a hole beneath the sail

How can I reach for a hand that never appears

When the dirt in the gutter is washed by our tears

The throne is sitting empty in the middle of the storm

While the coldness of the world becomes the only norm

If the watchman is watching then he’s turned his head away

Leaving us to wander in this endless shade of gray

How can I reach for a hand that never appears

When the dirt in the gutter is washed by our tears

The throne is sitting empty in the middle of the storm

While the coldness of the world becomes the only norm

If the watchman is watching then he’s turned his head away

Leaving us to wander in this endless shade of gray