in the aftermath of this stormy season almost over
the cold wind blowing through my chest
reminds me of the the ghost of babylon the broken
there are no more dreams for me

in the aftermath of this stormy season almost over
the cold wind blowing through my chest
the whore of babylon unrevealed
this is the sound of her dream

we are drunken and marching
towards hopelessness confused
and our emperors have become one
and this war has given you only one chance

in the aftermath of this stormy season almost over
how many chances will you give yourself
the woman of the apocalypse unsung
this is the sound of her delirium