Текст песни The Gift, The Curse, and The Fate - Belly

Peace be upon you
Don't let Peace be a pawn used
A black rose
That only grows to produce
Thrones made of thorns
For false kings void of roots
Family trees branching out to low hanging poisonous fruit
Mirages of olive branches
That never extend to truth
Lining the Orwellian orchard of forgotten souls
And martyred youth, generations of tear drops
Watering trees that once grew
Blood running like scarlet rivers
Flooding
Seeping through... the crust
Deeper and deeper
Reaching the core & burning
Turning into the holiest dust
Vessel tattered but the spirit untouched
Metal birds will eventually rust
Sunbirds die willingly at the hands of the unjust
Just to become firebirds soaring once more above us
Reduced to rubble and labeled dirt; praying under birds of prey
Seeds waiting for roots to take
In the decaying flesh of unsculpted clay
Proverbial veins wrapping around fractured shoulder blades
Willing to carry the weight
Of the gift, the curse and the fate