Glory

"There's no hope", a bell told me
and when the last dead body burns
we will notice

that the world is already a mess
and the flesh is stained and lasts
till the orange sunset
feeling colors in your eyes
is like trying to kill myself hard
it is done, babe

That was my farm, lost in the lands
there was a steeple in your bleeding
heart, I'm a saint

where's the humankind, are they late?
spreading fire in every act they make
could you save them?

So the world is already a mess
and the flesh is stained and lasts
till the orange sunset
feeling colors in your eyes
is like trying to kill myself hard
it is done, babe

Therefore, the world is already a mess
and the flesh is stained and lasts
till the orange sunset
feeling colors in your eyes
is like trying to kill myself hard
it is done, babe

I still wonder whether our pasts
define our best properties...

How could I get an answer to it
when what I see in front of me
is only glory?