The darkest days are left behind me

and the bitt'rest tears are shed.

The harshest sadness and the anger are, like you,

Now laid to rest.

And I, and you, and we are left with this cup in hand,

Left among the ashes, trying hard to understand.

And I won't ask you for forgiveness

For the things I did not do

And I won't entertain my anger, 

I don't think you'd want me to...

But when the sun descends in crimson

There behind the distant hills

When I hear the thunder rolling

Beneath the iron horses wheels,

Your voice, your face will come to me

I'll speak to you again.

And few will know it but I'll hear

You echo back in mountain winds.

So I don't know if you are listening.

I don't know if you can hear.

I don't know if you can sense 

The longing and the bitter tears.

But I'd like to think that somewhere

past the alabaster skies

There's a part of you that feels

the hollow seeking of our eyes

That you know that we, the remnant

See your face, it has not died

Hears your voice that vaguely echoes

with the flowing of the tides.

And the bits of you that linger

changing slow from pain to hope

Walking silently beside us

on the road that we must go.

For we will not forsake your memory

We will raise a sacred glass

We will hail to you, the fallen

We will take to us the task

To raise you up and in our silence

and in all our gilded praise

Will not let the memory wither

Will not let your spirit fade

And when all the things are crumbled,

And the worlds are then renewed.

We will search the hallowed halls 

For the glimm'ring light of you

There in hazy evanescence

We will stand there at your side

Reminisce of days long past

of the fickle seas, the tides.

We will stand with you again and,

sneer at death's temporal grasp

We will clasp our hands together,

And to lips will raise a glass