Every step that we tread,nThe dead are behind us;nThrowing shadows out over our heads,nAnd they live far in front of us.nNo oceans left to cross, no mountains left to climb,n'Cause that's what I've been told,nAnd it's got so hard to look aroundnAnd see just who can save you, if you don't have a pot of gold.nnWas there ever a timenLike this?nnAs the noise of the pastnBuilds up into a crescendo,nThe layers of rubbish makes their pleanAmplified a million times or morenBut our heads just can't cope, as we fallnInto the arms of the waiting mystics,nBooks burning, barrels turning--nA billion wasted futures light up the night sky.nnSmall hopes flash past the [...]nWhile foreign forces wait and pray,nAnd a fear of the future is so deep in our hearts,nThat they'll all but destroy ourselvesnLike the centuries-old feudsnBeing updated with high-tech weaponsnIn the end it's not the future,nBut the past, that'll get us.nI always believed [...] like this cost lives,nThat's why I was always in line for the sacrifice,nBut now my eyes point aheadnAway from the ghosts of the dead.