Walk the hills at twilight, under grey skies mark the passage of time, generation by generation waiting to die
In the hollows, covered in pines hidden from sight, morning air stays cold as the sun refuses to rise so we kneel, sinking into clay stained by roots fortified by time
Streams cut through the fields, the pulse of the mountain side the still sits empty, a shrine to a modern empty life bear witness to roots stained by time
arise, wash the dirt from your face, wake with the rising sun spread your roots, clean your roots, cut your roots, cut your rootsTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
