The wall on which the prophets wrote
         is cracking at the seams
Upon the instruments of death
        the sunlight brightly gleams.
When every man is torn apart
       with nightmares and with dreams,
Will no one lay the laurel wreath
      when silence drowns the screams...

Confusion will be my epitaph,
As I crawl a cracked and broken path.
If we make it, we can all sit back and laugh,
But I fear tomorrow I'll be crying,
Yes, I fear tomorrow I'll be crying.

Between the iron gates of fate
         the seeds of time were sawn,
And watered by the deeds of those
       who know and who are known.
Knowledge is a deadly friend
       if no one sets the rules.
The fate of all mankind I see
       is in the hands of fools...
 

King Crimson