It might be a barren wasteland...
It might be mine to command...
Could we've moved right past,
And lost sight of it?

THe most fertile place/s
Have become defiled.
They were just once wild,
With innocent faces...


It might be our job to shine right past,
the indigenity of what won't last...

What in our past dictates our futures?
This has gone out of hand...
Time,
Amber, Obsidian, an crystal implorations...

God, can you hear me?
The clouds are ripening...
And the land is declining...

Suffers all fools and what I mean
are men and women, all from where we 
came from...

Hate, hate go away,
I've moved right past you,
Pray...
Though I sing in harmony,
The melody doesn't give to me,
What I yearn for.

What is our nemesis?
How do we take care of it?
Before it destroys us?