Sometimes there are no "good" memories -
It's the mists over swamps in the forests we've passed -
Lies scattered half-eaten on that lonely path.
'Cuz the enemy of your enemy can't see your friend
Beautiful minds were too sick to meet
And every "friend" falls to gray fog at the end.
So even when we heard footsteps
The forms walking beside us were shadows of men
Ghosts of the past were ghosts all along
We were each one walking alone.