Once there were trees full of birds,
Meadowlands vibrant with flowers;
Carefree the songs our children once sang
Gilding our minutes and hours.
Clouds came and covered the sun,
The breath of a baleful unease
Turning to ashes flowers in their fields,
Silenced the birds in their trees.

Hidden so deep in veils of deceit,
Imprisoned in twisting spells -
Are we the plaything of fiends, or merely the dreams
That we're telling ourselves, telling ourselves?

Strive till the phantoms are broken,
Fight till the battle is done;
The squadrons of night can't conquer the day,
Nor shadows extinguish the sun.

Stories of danger, fearless attack,
Spectres of plague and pain.
All of these ghosts of our own delusions come back;
And we'll be haunted again, haunted again.

For though the storms are over and past,
Though the thunder's rage is quieted at last
Well this nightmare's laid me down in the rags here to mourn,
Here to mourn.
The night has left us crippled with grief
As we strive to keep alive our belief,
But a loss so great, it clouds all our hopes for the dawn.

Hidden so deep in veils of deceit,
Imprisoned in twisting spells -
Are we the plaything of fiends, or merely the dreams
That we're telling ourselves, telling ourselves?

Stories of danger, fearless attack,
Spectres of plague and pain.
All of these ghosts of our own delusions are back;
Have we been fighting in vain? Fighting in vain?