under high cloud

echoes of night remain in every heart
we wait to see just what falls on the plate
turning the truth into a work of art

a shuttered life spent in a place apart
keeps us in silence behind a thick gate
echoes of night remain in every heart

the job is ended before we can start
we start out early but arrive too late
turning the truth into a work of art

we bear the corpses on a slow mule cart
the lively once are now just so much freight
echoes of night remain in every heart

too soon we must make ready to depart
the tally will be cleared off the old slate
turning the truth into a work of art

the whip can never truly make us smart
only our knowledge of the final state
echoes of night remain in every heart
turning the truth into a work of art