They have no fear of death
, they embrace it,
In dark shadows,
they raise their sword,
to fight battles,
we can no longer comprehend,
Lost in their self,
falling in the wind,
Left with what we started,
broken hearted,
at the end,
Like a rose discarded,
after the touch of the piecing thorn.
Did we create
the children of the korn?
Like shattered glass,
are the dreams of tomorrow,
For the mass,
tears of sorrow,
Eyes looking though the haze,
of a nuclear cloud,
Where are the carefree days now?
Are they no longer allowed?
In the time that is borowed.
What promise is there of the morn?
Did we create the children of the korn?
Do we have deaf ears as they scream loud?
to their peers they take the finale bow to the crowd.
Where does healing begin?
For those who mourne?
Does life end,
for the children of the Korn?