In the Eastern sky

someone must die,

and someone’s calling you a liar.

There’s gold at your feet;

your children are dead in the street

and your cities are all on fire.

Your soul has been sold

for the streets of gold,

but on them no one’s left to walk.

It seems you’ve lost your lease,

and all that sound of peace

was just someone’s empty talk.

The Queen has taken the pawn,

and she says it’s time to move on,

but there’s no one left to play.

All the machines must rust,

and you and I, to dust,

but isn’t that how we started anyway?