A man in a prison, ‘till death do they part
Burning wood a wedding ring, twisted steel the altar
The roar of the flames is the voice of the preacher
The only voice of reality, is that mellow brass sound
Drowned about out by the precession, a chaotic occasion

A man in adulthood, the world still burning
Children born, from the oblivion his home
They know not anything else
Embracing their home with the ignorance of a newborn

A man is an elder, experienced through life
To find that the inferno, was just a ward
To bide it’s time, patiently waiting
For the end of his life, the oblivion has been realized

A man playing in slow motion as the world burns around him
Not a care in the world, just him and his trumpet
He knows what’s coming, but he cannot stop it
He just sits back, lets the oblivion consume him.