Player #7/256

The tribal call beckons, a plea in the midst Of decadence and decay in the lingering mist The cinder’s smoke dances, our carnal delight A pain unmasked, a degeneration’s plight From the muck we’re born, from the ashes we build A monument to the sky, a whole unfilled A yearning for freedom, we long once more As darkness creeps in, we beg for yore A tribal call beckons, a roar on high The end of the ages, a last goodbye A purpose unfelt, we pray for the rain And when silence falls, only our stories remain

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