THE WALL ON WHICH THE PROPHETS WROTE    IS CRACKING AT THE SEAMS.    UPON THE INSTRUMENTS IF DEATH    THE SUNLIGHT BRIGHTLY GLEAMS.    WHEN EVERY MAN IS TORN APART    WITH NIGHTMARES AND WITH DREAMS,    WILL NO ONE LAY THE LAUREL WREATH    AS SILENCE DROWNS THE SCREAMS.       BETWEEN THE IRON GATES OF FATE,    THE SEEDS OF TIME WERE SOWN,    AND WATERED BY THE DEEDS OF THOSE    WHO KNOW AND WHO ARE KNOWN;    KNOWLEDGE IS A DEADLY FRIEND    WHEN NO ONE SETS THE RULES.    THE FATE OF ALL MANKIND I SEE    IS IN THE HANDS OF FOOLS.       CONFUSION WILL BE MY EPITAPH.    AS I CRAWL A CRACKED AND BROKEN PATH    IF WE MAKE IT WE CAN ALL SIT BACK    AND LAUGH.    BUT I FEAR TOMORROW I'LL BE CRYING,    YES I FEAR TOMORROW I'LL BE CRYING.