Оригинален текст
Far away across the fields
Mortal men
Regain the seal
Of those before the winds of pain
When the Hollow Men
Staked their claim
And where the Word became flesh
Was where the world
Became cleansed
And in the streets the children ran
When heresy
Would claim the hand
Of the Prophet of man
And on their feet the Lame arose
And by his Grace
The lost came home
Yet through a frame of idolarty
We choose to ignore
We choose not to see
The Prophet of man
And in the darkness of chosen cell
I am awake but ever falling
And to listen with an honest heart
I know Iґd always hear the calling
And where the Word consumes the flesh
Is where the light
Of life is blessed
The Prophet of man
The Son of man