There's a farmer with a crop
He's been tending in the dark
And an angelic voice sings
Like broken strings on a harp
Tell me have we bread from this our own decay?
What do we look like in the day?

And there's an empty looking man
Who's been wandering for years
He preaches a sermon
That nobody hears
It's a story about a savior and a sage
Yeah it's about angels and graves

There's a society that hears wispers
About its end
And a whole bunch of people
With their heads in the sand
Yeah they've clung to this for too long
And they can understand
Why there's nobody left
comming to save them

There's a myth that's been perpetuated
Through the years has not abated
And we are left to meet out fate
Holding the bag
So tell me what do you believe in?
Marble, or sand, or broken dreams and
Amidst all this prophecy
Were do we come in?
Tell me where do we come in?