No masters no more in the world we implore The state of our age shall be thrown to the shore If not for the colors that glow 'neath the sun No beauty for anyone No detail on time on the throwaway line Now brawn is the victor, the loser the mind If not for the ruins if what was once now No beauty for anyone Gone is the ache and the wail Gone is the words for to tell Gone is the hunger that gnaws at the bone Gone is the tale of our years Gone is the blood and the tears Gone is all but a quarry of stone No rest ever earned, creativity turned Of the nature from which it incessantly churned If not for a morning that surely will come No beauty for anyone