Our skin is then broken... like a mold...
from the strike of a hammer... of the world...

We are nothing more than clay beings...
Only to live until we are dispelled...

What real purpose can a bag of water and air ever hope to achieve?
What else is left for me to say... before I myself begin to fade away...

into the the black abyss of time...
forever forgotten
never truely existant...

when people go
our skin begins to crumble with age

Cause time... is too fragile to hold
it shatters in my hands...
For when people die they always take a piece of us... with them...

the sun revolves around the dial...
inching closer to our end...

the sky turns from night into day...
the day when our skin turns back into clay...


copyright © Broken Moon Music 2001 - 2004