DESCRIPTION:
Under the smokestacks, shadows run tall.
Hidden from sight like blind insects we crawl
Back to sleep, kept awake by the thought of a thousand trees...

No longer weeping in the gale.
No longer soaking in the swill.
Felled and shipped off to the mills.
Replaced with bunkers to crest the hills.

So we sit by the hearth,
Empty palms outstretched, seeking a warmth
We were taught should be there.
Instead feel its absence etched into our bare...

...frostbitten hands, cradling exit wounds.
But our weakened bodies, tired minds... will be released soon.
Like prints in the sand: washed away at high tide.
Returned to dust. Faded from memory.

Burnt lungs, parched tongues.
Constricted throats wheeze silent songs.
These bloodshot eyes close one last time,
As a hungry mouth tastes the poison.

http://witheren.bandcamp.com/track/under-the-smokestacks