The birds crow a weeping melody, trees clean of leaves
the smoke chokes the atmosphere, until even us can't breathe
I look upon the weary skies, the ones that fell so far
If only could this one last time I could see the stars
But the babies are all silent, the snow is blood ash-grey
The language that once taught us has nothing else to say
They tell us "Sleep now, my child. Don't worry, it's not there"
They tell us "There's no monster under the bed, no need to be scared"
But they don't see what we all see, as the pin drops in deafening silence
Sure teh monster isn't under the bed, it hasn't been there since
The day that we all turned fifteen, we've long known it was here
Until the smoke cloaks our sight until even we can't see what is near
So the birds crow a weeping melody, trees clean of leaves
But at least the happy fools that brought us here think the air is clean
But everything is falling, as so does the weary skies
Holding our every breath, until even then it cannot help but cry