The dream of a thousand lifetimes,
Slowly slips away.
The rising storm obscures,
The warming light of day.
The souls of a million warriors ache,
As they march in time,
And looking to the sky,
They wonder what they’ll find,
When it’s gone.
Behold the age-old passion.
The evil does arise.
From the east, ill winds blow,
The seeds to blind their eyes.
A million wary soldiers march,
Off to meet the tide.
Shadows fall upon their hearts.
They do not recognize …
The silence is foreboding.
The smoke obscures the land.
A figure staggers through the dusk,
And tries to comprehend,
A million tattered bodies lost,
To this morbid deed;
The struggle no one wins,
For no one will concede.
(1989)
Lyrics: Wicasta Lovelace
Music: Wicasta Lovelace
