At the top of the tower,
it’s empty he said,
There is nothing there,
your god is long dead.

These footsteps that echo
are none but your own,
eternally searching
a place to call home.

Where shall you go now?
You, with no respite.
Do as they all say,
Walk into the light?

This light is but stardust,
that which suns have bled.
The tower is empty,
your god is long dead.

Sing for me,