I stood upon the highest cliff-top, down, around, and all that I could see were those that I would dearly love to share crashing on blindly to the sea.... I tried to ask what game was, but I would not play it: the voice, as one, as no-one, to me.... 'We have upon the heroes and are found wanting; we have looked across the land, but we can see no we have now dared to the sky, but we are still we are drawing to the cliffs, now we can the call. The are piled in mountain-shapes, is no escape except to go forward. Don't ask us for an now, far too late to bow to that convention. What course is there left but to We have looked the High Kings, them less than mortals: their are dust before the just of our young, new law. Minds stumbling strong, we on into the dark can halt our final vault into the maw. And as the Elders beat brows know it is really far too late now to stop us. For if the sky is seeded what is the in catching breath?...Expel it! What is there left but to die in search of something we're not quite of?' What cause is there but to die? What cause is there but to die? What cause is there but to die? ...I don't know why... I know our may be soon but why do you them sooner? Time may finally only the move her and no lies in the quicksand. Yes I it's Out of control, out of Greasy machinery on the rails, Young minds and bodies on spokes impaled.... Cogs tearing bones, cogs tearing Iron-throated are forcing our screams, Mind and box-press the dreams. ...but still is time... are they who run today, the is beginning... no war with knives, fight our lives, lemmings can teach death no hope, we must grope for the answer: our blood, abate the flood, the disaster... there's ways than screaming in the mob: that us merely cogs of hatred. Look to the why and we are, look to and the stars and in the end choice is there left but to live in the of saving our children's little ones? What choice is but to live? What choice is but to live? What is there but to live? to save the ones? What choice is there but to try?