Falling away from this life
Falling back to the swamp
Trampling the burning ashes of my shattered dreams underfoot
Maybe facing at last with all my certainties
Which have been burnt, on the altar of self-confidence
There’s no pupil in the eye of the stillborn prophet
Back to the swamp… falling back to the swamp
Since now, certainties have to belong to my fears
Nothing is safe, definitively dead, a stillborn prophet
I could hope, but hope doesn’t fit the facts
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