Story of a man

The story of a man
on the morning of a war,
Will you wait for me,
be she never knew how,
Will you wait for me,
but she never knew why,

And all the battles won,
now lost without a cause,
and all the battles won,
kill him more in every way,
Now that today he walks still.

The sorry of the man
on the morning of his war
The sorry of a man
on the mourning of his star
will you wait for me
but she she never knew when
Will you wait for me
but she never knew, then
that a lie could tear through flesh
more than burning lead.

And all the scars that he took
kill him more everyday
and all the deaths that he saw
Keeps him in all the trenches
that he never left.
burried under the corpse
of those he never killed.

Will you come to talk to me
but she never made it
Will you come to talk to me

lost in his trenches,
she turned cold then away
so that he is now left on his battlefield
on the morning of his war
on the mourning of his scars...

But was it all a game
played in the hands of unaware pawns
was it all part of the same eternal cycle
that turn trees to stones
stones to deserts
and deserts to crowds?

The story of a man
on the mourning of his war
fought with will of an eagle
killed with a dart
of his own making.

Was it all a lie
told by knaves
twisted by fools?
Was it all a game, insane?
made by the folly of the flow?

The story of a man
on the morning of his life.
The story of his life.