Part 3 of 3.

The clouds have rained and thundered out—there's simply no more energy left for lightning to strike.

There's no more forests to topple—they've all burned down.

We can't dig our graves any deeper into the ground—we've hit the bedrock.

We've lost the pick to every lock and are now forced to talk our way inside.

If it's the middle of the night then it can't get any darker; the sun will come up,

and it can't get any colder. The mists came,

and there's nowhere for them to go but away—they can't stay

because everything shall change: time won't have it any other way.

We've lost ourselves, so now all we have is one another. We've run out of insults

and settled on: "Brother."

We're too weary to carry on, and so we lean on each other.

We've got nowhere to go except for home.

(Brother, there's no need to be alone.)