lirik lagu sentinel sky - the window's view
[intro]
another dawn breaks, not with the sun, but a distant, m~ffled sound
the city breathes in, a grey, fractured lung, on familiar, trembling ground
from the window, i watch the first light appear, not gold, but the haze of a fire
reflecting off glass, holding back growing fear, as sirens begin their low choir
[verse]
the same cracked pavement, now shadowed by dread, the same old doors, closed tight
another day rising, from restless, cold bed, surviving through the fading night
[pre~chorus]
the gears begin turning, a grinding, low hum, not of a factory, but fate
another day’s journеy, to what we’ve becomе, behind a locked, rusted gate
the clock on the wall, a tireless, cold friend, counting each hour, each breath
until the broadcast proclaims the day’s end, or perhaps, a whisper of death
[chorus]
and the streetlights fade, like hopes in the haze
in this endless procession of perilous days
routine’s grey steel, now forged in the fire
from the morning’s first tremor, to dangers draw nigher
just a man in the crowd, a face etched with strain
living out moments, through sorrow and rain
[verse]
the queue at the market, a silence so deep, no chatter, just watchful eyes
each bag carried heavy, the secrets we keep, beneath indifferent skies
through the blur of the window, the sandbags piled high, the monuments, scarred and old
each building a memory, ‘neath a vigilant eye, a story that’s yet to unfold
the same dusty desk, if the power still stays, the work, a forgotten refrain
just a quiet escape, from the endless arrays, of worry, and fear, and deep pain
[pre~chorus]
the gears keep on turning, a grinding, low hum, not of a factory, but fate
another day’s journey, to what we’ve become, behind a locked, rusted gate
the clock on the wall, a tireless, cold friend, counting each hour, each breath
until the broadcast proclaims the day’s end, or perhaps, a whisper of death
[chorus]
and the streetlights fade, like hopes in the haze
in this endless procession of perilous days
routine’s grey steel, now forged in the fire
from the morning’s first tremor, to dangers draw nigher
just a man in the crowd, a face etched with strain
living out moments, through sorrow and rain
[verse]
the evening descends, with a fragile, brief grace, between the alerts, we find peace
another day’s end, leaving scarcely a trace, as the distant explosions increase
the radio hums low, a familiar sound, reporting on battles far off
stories of others, on hallowed ground, while we try to suppress a soft cough
the quiet of night, a blanket so thin, as promises vanish in smoke
[chorus]
and the streetlights fade, like hopes in the haze
in this endless procession of perilous days
routine’s grey steel, now forged in the fire
from the morning’s first tremor, to dangers draw nigher
just a man in the crowd, a face etched with strain
living out moments, through sorrow and rain
[outro]
another dawn breaks… under a vigilant sky…
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