Every step that we tread
The dead are behind us
Throwing shadows out over our heads
And they land far in front of us
No oceans left to cross
No mountains left to climb
'Cause that's what I've been told
And it's got so hard to look around
And see just who can save you if
You don't have a pot of gold
Was there ever a time like this?

As the noise of the past
Builds up into a crescendo
The layers of rubbish, wastes, accrue
Are amplified a billion times or more
But our heads just can't cope, as we fall
Into the arms of the waiting mystics
Books burning, barrels turning
A billion wasted futures light
Up the night sky

Small hopes flash past then wave
While foreign forces wait and pray
And a fear of the future beats
So deep in our hearts
That they'll all but destroy ourselves
Like the centuries-old feuds
Being upgraded with high-tech weapons
In the end it's not the future
But the past that'll get us
I always believed that ideas
Like this cost lives
That's why I was always in
Line for the sacrifice
But now my eyes point ahead
Away from the ghosts of the dead

Copyright: BMG Rights Management
Writer(s): Ian Crause, Paul Wilmott, Robert Whatley