Still the silent, innocent hands cling to their fate
The end creeping close underneath the door
Flowing with the sand, heading toward the gate

Hope lingering on thread made of fallen state
Teaching minds cold with hunger not to deplore
Still the silent, innocent hands cling to their fate

They slow the waste of matter, for luxury must wait
Walking a little slower or the simple be their chore
Flowing with the sand, heading toward the gate

Climbing to success, their goal is to reflate
Bringing others to their cause from nations galore
Still the silent, innocent hands cling to their fate

They wander without a sound along roads seething with hate
Beneath the glowing blanket untouched by war
Flowing with the sand, heading toward the gate

“It’s temporary,” some say, yet for the promise they await
Their long road may be ending soon without good works in store
Still the silent, innocent hands cling to their fate
Flowing with the sand, heading toward the gate.