The fires raged hot, left only ash in their wake,
Bone and rot, feathers and teeth,
The last true performers, gone
The curtains drew,
The closing act of an empty theatre,
It once housed the most beautiful of plays.

From their embers there will rise no phoenix,
No saviour, no mythical symbol of hope,
Just a dead bird of a forgotten past,
Lay it to rest! Lay it to rest!
It's the final flare of a sun's last rays,
Leave it to rot! Leave it to rot!
So cold, so lifeless in aftermath,

With salty eyes and salty cries we uproar,
Our grief dried as crystals upon our cheeks,
We choke on tears, setting mock fires in city streets,
For there is nothing left, and even less to lose,

We are the ending credits,
Set the props, light the lamps,
We will burn this stage to the ground.