| the myth of the cities that fell from the ashes red wind for the autumn of fire the price of the reason that told us to stay and to pay for the check with the time of our lives the myth of the cities that fell down the stairs black light for the shadows that ride the time of the day that has never been seen and we pay for the dark with the sight of our eyes the rain is holy but the rain makes you cry the myth of the traveler blinks at the wind returns in the autumn of fire the price of believing that we're here to stay and would pay for these steps if we'd ever arrive the myth of the healer that won't ask the soul but looks all the masks in the eye the age of the alchemy strange and well known turns gold into right the rain is holy but the rain makes you cry |