Men mingle words as they shuffle on through
The doors open wide and the window's a view
Of bridges vast and wide and the coming to sea
Of bodies, shadow side facing outland debris.
We mingle and we mince with a question of years
Lending credence to the stories and the tales of spears
In the sides of the giants who were crafted from stone
Across the river, in a building lays a paper alone
It's the blueprint for the monsters that we build and construct
It's the silent waiting calm that we burn and we cut
It's abounding with the former fears of our fallen foes
It's the ending of the conversation as the last man goes home.
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