The night is young,
With all the zombies gone,
Take me to the age of old hypnotic songs.
The wolves are dead,
And all the turtles fled,
Take me to the shadows of a cold river bed.
This blood has fought all the battles through,
The knife has stood on the cycles of truth,
For we don't know, for who do we stand,
For we are the strangers of this neurotic land.