all the flowers in the field of hours   have withered away   and the sky that used to light our lives   is ashen grey   as the clouds kiss the faultline   and look back as to say...   "there's nothing to see here..."   there's nothing to fell here      and our dreams left like children by the wayside   and our psalms   sung like secrets by the seaside      could heaven come more quickly   and life us from the embers   and the cinders that we remember   of the fires that killed out hearts   and left us withered and grey   there's a tear inside of all our lives   that time won't mend   there's a shroud around our saddened eyes    here at the end      yet our hopes shine like beacons    in the half-light   and our prayers-violent wispers   by the seaside