Withering Branches

Oh what a wide world to conquer

It rests in the palm of our hands

The lines blur between corruption and

Where we sit upon our thrones

And we draw blood as if it's our right to

But is it our right to

We've been swaying for centuries

And we've dug in our roots

As we drink up the sea of divinity

But we can't seem to shed our afflictions

What pitiful deities we make

If we can't reach beyond ourselves

Such lowly gods we create

When we only believe in what our

Hands can touch and our eyes can see

We've been swaying for centuries

And we've dug in our roots

As we drink up the sea of divinity

But we can't seem to shed our afflictions

What pitiful deities we make

If we can't reach beyond ourselves

Such lowly gods we create

When we only believe in what our

Hands can touch and our eyes can see

We are withering branches

Oh what a wide world to conquer

It falls apart in our hands

Withering Branches - A Hope For Home