We see upon the earth, the bones they lay,
By man’s cold hand a print is made,
It does quite seem that every night and day,
We take away and do not give our trade.

Eternal greed consumes this careless race,
Like swooping shadows crawling on the wall,
The beasts, they seem to die with little haste,
Yet soon we will no longer hear their call.

All the glory of the world destroyed,
Crushed underneath the growing lives of man,
If only we could see the hole, the void,
Those made of cold dark flame has ran.

The blood is red and you can tell
It’s almost the time to cry farewell