Impotent Rage Rage! Rage against the coming of the night! Fight! Strive against the dying of the light! Struggle! Resist, knowing it's in vain as the world looks down on you with haughty, cold disdain. As your towers crumble away before your very eyes and you learn that reality is nothing more than lies you'll try to swim against the tide with nothing but your name as the common rabble seeks the next person to blame. All the dreams you had are gone, ashes in the wind, because they're all as white as snow--only you have sinned. Watch as others pass you by, your candle burns alone. All that's left is the grave, a pile of rags and bone. A pauper is your fate decreed, simple and too true-- all that remains is the great beyond, so jump into the blue. What is left for them to take when they've taken all? To line their filthy pockets and pack their banquet hall. Feast upon the blood that's lost, break the bones assunder, never mind that noise you hear, it's just the distant thunder-- weeping voices crying out for help that never shows, fueling fires of quiet unrest in a heart that's doomed to know that the end result will be the same, nothing really matters when reality folds up like a map and you're mad as hatters. A single hole dug in the earth is all you really need-- time to cure yourself of life just like a noxious weed.