Pale-skinned, marsh dwellers, emerge from your murky caves. Wanderlust takes hold. The way stands clear, a gaping maw set to swallow the future. We travel across the burning sands to an open coast, greeted with waves of indifference. Northward--over mountains which rise like spears offering twisted paths, crooked smiles at the abysmal nothingness above. Oh, these sour times. We return covered in rags and our filth, dissension in our ranks like our closest friend. Home has been sacrificed in the harvest of experience.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
