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
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