| In the valley of light, there’s dust
|
| In the glory of pain, there’s life
|
| In the bellies of pigs, we rot
|
| In the gullet of worms, we die
|
| The engine’s turning and salvation’s growing dim
|
| And all I see, and all I see is red
|
| My stomach’s burning and the venom’s soaking in
|
| And it’s all I feel, and all I feel is red
|
| In the stories of time, we’re lost
|
| In the glories of rage, we fly
|
| On the shackles that bind, there’s rust
|
| In the echoes of hell, we fly
|
| The engine’s turning and salvation’s growing dim
|
| And all I see, and all I see is red
|
| My stomach’s burning and the knife’s just digging in
|
| And it’s all I know, and all I know is red
|
| Red
|
| Red
|
| Red
|
| Red
|
| Red
|
| Needles and pins, needles and pins
|
| Needles and pins, needles and pins
|
| Needles and pins, needles and pins
|
| Needles and pins
|
| The engine’s turning and salvation’s growing dim
|
| And all I see and all I see is red
|
| My stomach’s burning and the venom’s soaking in
|
| And it’s all I know, and all I’ll know is red
|
| Red
|
| Red
|
| It’s all red
|
| Red
|
| Red
|
| Red |