Down the morning comes and burns the ground Shrunken heads are piled to the sky Kneeling over signs I make no sound Hallowed oracle of spirits die
Victims of the sign in steel engraved Whispered prayers forgotten when they fall Battered by the wind I'm still enslaved Punctured vein of life has freed them all
Vines in the trees, open eyes in the air Tribes of the hills in despair Scaling the breeze over fires bright and bare Spines break with ease everywhere
Eye of the night scratching fables across The sweat and the soil of the land Igneous block pounding blood into stone Voices that issue the sandTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
