Writings of the Silent

Ink is dry upon the page

Written from a quiet cage

No names left on these old stones

Just the secrets in our bones

And the wind

begins to write

Every word

we lost to the night

This is the diary of the dead men Whispered in the dark

again and again

We are the pages they forgot to burn

Waiting for the dust to turn

Marching lines of faded lead

By the hands of those who bled

History draws a crooked line

Drinking down the bitter wine

And the wind

begins to write

Every word

we lost to the night

This is the diary of the dead men Whispered in the dark

again and again

We are the pages they forgot to burn

Waiting for the dust to turn

Oh, read the names in the clay (read the names) See the

ink wash away (wash away) Every breath we couldn't keep Is buried

deep

Just a diary in the cold (mmmmm)

A story left untold