Was it carved upon the stones
that built Atlantis and were lost?
Was it whispered in the streets
of ancient Rome?
Far too many years have passed
in thawing and in frost,
but all things have a way of coming home.
And when the fire is gone,
when the fire is gone,
how will we go on, Prometheus?
Will we taste the poison?
Will it take us by surprise?
Will scientists explain it all away?
All of these magnetic fields
upset the compass,
blind the eyes;
convince us that this is the only way.
And when the fire is gone,
when the fire is gone,
how will we go on, Prometheus?
Is ignorance still bliss?
Perhaps tomorrow will arrive
to gaze on a cold hollow in the skies.
Will anything we know remain?
Will anything survive?
Or will we leave a legacy of lies?
And when the fire is gone,
when the fire is gone,
how will we go on, Prometheus?
