The means of our dominance wahes about our feet Our Bronze Age of progress slintered upon the reef
Five days or fifty years, we'll soon be fate's debris Impatient nations north of here, hunger to make history
With no means of trade, crushed is our maritime might Foreign sandals upon our sands, will we last the night?
Five days or fifty years, we'll soon be fate's teeth Impatient nations north of here, hunger to make history
What Gods do we turn to, which priestess do we believe? The ones who clutch snakes, or those who point to the sea?
Every ship and sail swallowed by generous one A naval nation's stay of execution
What will the Greeks think when they see what we've become? Delusion, chaos, and cannibalismTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
