Prophet's

For heroes will rise, and villians will fall,
and villians will rise, or nothing at all.

The world revolves, and us with it,
the betters, with a compass tugging at their hearts,
they flow through their dreams, their wants and aims,
not waiting for their world to start.

Some stare, lost, into the skies,
the stars' existence from up above,
beamed into their starry eyes,
holding their dreams, their wants and aims.

Some are sharp as the edge of knives,
cutting through what they despise,
silver hazes in others' eyes,
cutting away their nightmares and hates.

Such a pulse it is, living on,
such drives there are, burning on,
makes me feel so wonderfully incomplete,
with my changing aims that I will never meet.

I see the symmetry of twos all about.
And I celebrate this tug of mighty souls as they clash about.

For heroes will rise, and villians will fall,
and villians will rise, or nothing at all.

The Untitled Song

For heroes will rise, and villians will fall,
and villians will rise, or nothing at all.

The world revolves, and us with it,
the betters, with a compass tugging at their hearts,
they flow through their dreams, their wants and aims,
not waiting for their world to start.

Some stare, lost, into the skies,
the stars' existence from up above,
beamed into their starry eyes,
holding their dreams, their wants and aims.

Some are sharp as the edge of knives,
cutting through what they despise,
silver hazes in others' eyes,
cutting away their nightmares and hates.

Such a pulse it is, living on,
such drives there are, burning on,
makes me feel so wonderfully incomplete,
with my changing aims that I will never meet.

I see the symmetry of twos all about.
And I celebrate this tug of mighty souls as they clash about.

For heroes will rise, and villians will fall,
and villians will rise, or nothing at all.