There is no god And we are his prophets Pressing ever southward Amidst the charnel expanse Amidst the endless gray We starve, exhausted Yet march we must, Though hope slips... ...Through emaciated fingers Emaciated fingers That carry the fire The fire that once Burned this world The fire that will renew it yet... ...Or so we tell ourselves As we starve, exhausted, body and soul Still the fire must be carried Still the child must live X2