Beasts Of Prey - Rome

To each dream its fragrance

To life its dread

To each angst its pain

To each truth its rumour

We have lost our cause

We have drained this fear

With burning glass

With another cheap thrill

Its trust regained

Its strife remote

So be unkind or be sedated

Did tomorrow swear not to spare itself

Nor anyone else?

Anyone else?

To prepare you, to prepare your mind for the part you must play in this great

war?