| They’d been warned, day was bound to be
|
| Burning up with fever in the poison dusted streets
|
| So they built up iron walls to tower tides of feat
|
| Each of whom will meet their doom before this night retreats
|
| And when their bones decay
|
| In dust they’ll float away
|
| On wind bound south to hell
|
| All the dark hearts yell:
|
| «We came to wake the dead
|
| With thunder in our breath
|
| With fire in our hands
|
| We’ll make the world our prisoner»
|
| There will be parades marching to the beat
|
| In masquerade the dark will play a cricket symphony
|
| So they built up iron walls that can not stand the breeze
|
| Like hurricanes our wrath will claim this city as it sleeps
|
| And when their bones decay
|
| In dust they’ll float away
|
| On wind bound south to hell
|
| All the dark hearts yell:
|
| «We came to wake the dead
|
| With thunder in our breath
|
| With fire in our hands
|
| We’ll make the world our prisoner»
|
| We came to wake the dead
|
| With thunder in our breath
|
| With fire in our hands
|
| We’ll make the world our prisoner |