Sick Days Behind
Sick Days Behind
The world has come to its end
Hope has stopped to have a meaning
Cities are being expunged
Sharpnel is making music.
Meadows are stained with the blood of innocence
And the dead people are marching in the streets of damned cities
Through the brume of prominence.
It's a gloomy world
The sky full of mist
Lead me to the fringe of transience ...
