There is bullshit on your breath.
I can't believe that we are all fine.
Nothing but worries as the rivers run black.
Polluted pastures on grey landscapes.
The rolling hills have been turned to highways.
The life of the landscape turned into an advertisement,
littered with the dead of our wrecks.
I can't believe that we are all fine.
Nothing but worries as the rivers run black.
Polluted pastures on grey landscapes.
The rolling hills have been turned to highways.
The life of the landscape turned into an advertisement,
littered with the dead of our wrecks.
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From Ashes Rise
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