(Movement 1: Creator)

 

 Come forth dark herald

 Bringer of light

 Bourne by the burning swans...and his plague breath

 Creator

 

 Of the dream coil, a halo aloft as hands entwine

 

 Painters of the tempest, with their red hands

 The world their canvas

 Through the mist of the stormglass...

 

 And Bruegel dreamt the angels above

 As Bosch danced in earthly delight

 

 Angels fall...

 Into the canvas

 Reaching for the light

 Heaven is empty

 ...and all the beauty is here

 

 Upon this bone palette

 The sway of nine-tails

 Layered lashings of euphoria and chaos

 Triptychs unfold like wings

 As the arms of our fathers bear the weight of what they've done

 Anti-matter-martyrs

 

 Warmth of life

 Where they sing of fire

 Children's eyes... for they all shine

 As tears rise, oceans of flame billow

 When all dreams lose hope...

 

 And Bruegel wept for the fading sun

 Where have all the angels gone?

 

 Angels fall...

 Into the canvas

 Reaching for the light

 Heaven is empty

 As hell below

 And hell below

 Painted by ghosts

 

 Lords of lifeless eyes

 In this garden of wilted flowers

 Vultures spake the mother tongue...

 

 (Movement 2: Cynosure)

 

 Hear the children

 Breathless sleep

 Where they dream a new day

 Echoing...

 Oh when they dream

 Ebb and flow,... free falling

 Beautiful and calm...

 And fragile, and whole

 Where they dream a new day

 Through the coil they course and carousel

 Echoes,...

 Hear the lost children

 Hear the children sing

 Through the coil they carousel

 Within this stained glass womb

 They sing with open minds...

 

 Within this stained glass womb

 They see with open minds

 The event horizon and beyond

 

 (Movement 3: Curator)

 

 A wasteland and so barren, haunted by a sea of pale faces

 The city of lost children, raising their death-shrouded flags

 Can you hear the redrum pounding? The heartbeat of many as one...

 Curator, father... what have we become?

 

 Radiance, blinding horizon

 The brilliant sunrise

 Their horizons, where they seize this life

 Our children...

 Painters, they are

 They are, the change

 Painters...