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Anthony42 
The wall on which the prophets wrote,
is cracking at the seams.
Upon the instruments of death,
the sunlight brightly gleams.
When every man...is torn apart,
with nightmares, and of dreams,
will no one lay the laurel wreath,
as silence drowns the screams?
Between the iron gates of fate,
the seeds of time were sewn,
and watered by the deeds of those,
who know...and who are known.
Knowledge is a deadly friend,
when no one sets the rules.
The fate of all mankind...I see,
is in...the hands of fools.
Confusion...will be my epitaph,
as I crawl a cracked and broken path.
If we make it, we can all sit back and laugh,
but I fear tomorrow I'll be crying...
yes I fear tomorrow...I'll be crying.
