Comment: The tribal call beckons, a plea in the midstOf decadence and decay in the lingering mistThe cinder’s smoke dances, our carnal delightA pain unmasked, a degeneration’s plightFrom the muck we’re born, from the ashes we buildA monument to the sky, a whole unfilledA yearning for freedom, we long once moreAs darkness creeps in, we beg for yoreA tribal call beckons, a roar on highThe end of the ages, a last goodbyeA purpose unfelt, we pray for the rainAnd when silence falls, only our stories remain