Ten. Hundred. Thousand. Days of sorrow By now revenge is planned precise as death Nothing will be as it was before No scapegoat might save the enemy Failure is not accepted We'll take the present before the future is gone Destruction No one will be saved Some of us will fall With broken bones and burned skin Our blood will be spilled to fill their graves And white flags will burn above us The hand will hit with a geometric power The hand will hit Rising Rise
Vyšlo na albech
