---

Years have passed away - still his soul´s condemned.
Haunted by remembrance ever ´till the end.
Blood on his hands
he can´t wash away.

Marching through the fields of death.
Blood is dripping down onto the ground.
Kill to live and live to kill.
Slaves of war - slaves of theirselves.

Scenes of battle, caught in torture,
death and terror ruled the land.
Orders led their way - no return.
Most of them they went there last,
but how to die when life has just begun ?
Play fate’s game to live,
or stay on Fields of Aeveron.

He looks right into his eyes, looks beyond his self-disguise.
Closes his eyes but he can´t hide the tears.
Blood on his hands
he can´t wash away.

Marching through the fields of death.
Blood is dripping down onto the ground.
Kill to live and live to kill.
Slaves of war - slaves of theirselves.

And the sand rans way too fast,
way too fast out of my hands.
Tell me! Is it worth winning a
fight and therefore losing life?

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Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.