8 acessos
Bleeding Dirt
Immersed in weakness
With dimming gaze
Faced with the fate
I feel myself the man, who lost the truth
The unbearable pain
Pierces my body,
Runs-through my soul,
Gets me back to the war.
No hope to catch life on the flap,
In torments my friends go away,
Doomed not to find the last rest,
Rage - is a machine of death.
Violently plunged into fight,
Destroying oppisite sides,
Gripping in teeth gun and blade
We're kneading the cold bleeding Dirt.
Bleeding dirt. Dirt.
Bleed ing dirt.
Nerves become blunt.
Flooded with wine,
Cauterized with mad lead
The deadful though are torturing jaded mind.
No escape from my life,
Life - no cure for wounds,
The unbearable pain
Gets me back to the war.
Thousands of the dead are ignored.
Money arises in death.
For true reason of unfair game,
For the fault they could not take the blame.
Thrown in the dark of the streets
The wretches with broken fate,
Awards are the means to shut up,
They just want to forget bleeding
Dirt. Bleeding dirt.
Dirt. Bleeding dirt.