Testo: Thrice. The Artist In The Ambulance. All That's Left.

One day the dreamers died within us
when all our answers never came
we hid the truth beneath our skin but
our shadows never looked the same

a ghost is all that's left
of everything we swore we never would forget
we tried to bleed the sickness
but we drained our hearts instead
we are the dead

and when we couldn't stop the bleeding
we held our hearts over the flame
we couldn't help but call it treason
after that we couldn't fill our frames
after that our shadows never looked the same

in summers past we'd challenge fate
with higher pitch and perfect aim
and standing fast, we'd radiate
a light we loved but never named
but the answers never came
and our shadows never looked the same

a ghost is all that's left
of everything we swore we never would forget
we tried to bleed the sickness
but we drained our hearts instead
we are the dead
a ghost of everything we thought but never said
we tried to bleed the sickness
but we drained our hearts instead

we are the ones who lost our faith
we dug ourselves an early grave
we are the dead, can we be saved?