No masters no more
In the world we implore
The state of our age
Shall be thrown to the floor

If not for the colors
That glow 'neath the sun
No beauty for anyone

No detail or time
On the throw-away line
Now brawn is the victor
The loser the mind

If not for the ruins
Of what was once now
No beauty for anyone

Gone is the ache in the well
Gone is the words for to tell
Gone is the hunger that gnaws
At the the bone

Gone is the tale of our years
Gone is the blood and the tears
Gone is all but a quarry of stone
No risk every earned
Creativity turned
Of the nature from which it incessantly churned

If not for a morning
That surely will come
No beauty for anyone

No desire ever had
For all those who are sad
No praise for the ones
Who are perfectly mad

If not for the words
In the minds of the gone
No beauty for anyone

Gone is the ache in the well
Gone is the words for to tell
Gone is the hunger that gnaws
At the the bone

Gone is the tale of our years
Gone is the blood and the tears
Gone is all but a quarry of stone
Gone is all but a quarry of stone