Žodžiai dainai: Tiamat. A Deeper Kind Of Slumber. Cold Seed.

what heals our snow-blind weary eyes
when all stars are slain by fiery skies
and every word upon your spiraling cross
is but a misled sun, a bitter loss
inject us out of here
all i asked for was a little love
but from my hands flew the maiden dove
while clouds like cotton snowwhite sheep
still calm beside their shepherd sleep
inject us out of here