Our chances are flecks of paint, Our chances are flecks of paint, In dueling drips of bleeding angst, In dueling drips of bleeding angst. Flecks are our chances of bleeding, Dueling angst in drips of paint. Mighty the triumph of rage's hands, Mighty the triumph of rage's hands, Destroyed what crafty hearts hath built, Destroyed what crafty hearts hath built. The hearts of rage's crafty triumph, Hath built what destroyed mighty hands. I make each damning spark deliver, I make each damning spark deliver. What grows ‘round the dimming light, What grows ‘round the dimming light. The spark dimming grows damning light Each make ‘round what I deliver. Of the damning drips of triumph, Mighty chances spark in our hands, Rage’s crafty, dimming flecks are destroyed. Of each dueling light what grows, I make hearts ‘round bleeding paint, Deliver what the angst hath built.