| march out, submissive, tundra-locked labor slaves
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| eight years inside here, counting down our endless days
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| we’re rationed, worked and flogged 'til bitter dusk dissolves
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| and beckons back to here, so far from mother’s arms
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| each day, a penance, each night, a sigh
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| through every night I ponder, what exists beyond these walls
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| this dreaded repetition, gnawed flesh, a shield gone numb
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| I’ll tread this place no longer, tomorrow I’ll be gone
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| into the unforgiving, a bleak and barren land
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| this rock, and birch-bound cradle, saps the life from me
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| no gods, no laws, just open empty earth
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| at one with crystal-white, to die alone
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| Narodnaya, our time is nigh, open your door to the end
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| white clouds of frozen breath, these ghosts accompany
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| waiting for death, together longing for release
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| and from my resting place, I stare at Narodnaya
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| beneath the gray clouds brooding, the air escapes my lungs |