With honor in his heart
and rage in his hands...
His eyes brings death
his heart black as tar...
The fearsome rain
is dripping down our ceiling...
An alcoholic starts his life in the park
by choosing out a bench...
Between life and death
exist a fog of souls...
Through our eyes we see
and with our ears we hear...
Shining bright in the winter light
listening to the tones...
Slowly walking down the stairs
where demons build their nests...
Will the feeling ever close
in my mind it grows and grows...
Foreign countries
fighting for power...
Gather around the square digged hole
and prepare to meet my dear old friend...
Blowing in the wind
Familiar voices...