All brooks hazed in twilight
Soft hissing steam fills the air
In the shadow of a falling sun
The night reveals reptilian eyes
Quietly searching a minefield
Seeking a way forward
In the dying light of the Earth
An unwitting figurehead emerges
One voice ringing from the lone remaining stage
The disciples of the lizard king bow
While darkness creeps in and multiplies
They nod their heads in his presence
There is nothing left but music at the end of the world
And the lizards dance
And the king doesn’t know what to make of it
