| Wooden walls around my mind
|
| My soul has left memories behind
|
| We walk around like ghosts
|
| Like puppets on a string of despair
|
| As bells toll — a call for the chosen ones
|
| Outside the window I see loaded guns
|
| The caravan of dying flowers
|
| Moving to the showers
|
| Moving through doors of steel
|
| Black flowers in cities of death
|
| Where sun turns to grey
|
| And love fades away
|
| It’s the march of the innocent
|
| It’s the march of the innocent
|
| Prayers don’t find
|
| The right words to help
|
| Speechless they move through
|
| Thousands of tears
|
| Touching the head of a child who cries
|
| Defending the fear of those who will die
|
| Through fire we walk no chance to survive
|
| The army of terror steal our lives
|
| Now faith is the substance
|
| Of things we hope for
|
| We’re starting the journey
|
| To heaven’s door
|
| Black flowers in cities of death
|
| Where sun turns to grey
|
| And love fades away
|
| It’s the march of the innocent
|
| It’s the march of the innocent
|
| It’s the march of the innocent
|
| It’s the march of the innocent |