We all fall down in black despair,
When troubles prove too much to bear.
And from the fight we slowly fall
In Apathy’s most torpid thrall:
That desperate siren in her lair.
The price so high, we do not dare,
And try to make our hearts not care;
With each coffin carried down the hall,
We all fall down.
Yet, though hell may try to from us tear
The hope that in our breast we share,
It burns against the deathly pall
And rising with the trumpet’s call-
While one is left we’ll fight him where
We all fall down.