In a country where the shelling never stops
Where the winter's winner won the war of words
When the anger blows better than the strongest winds
We will work; our fingers cut right to the bone regardless

You're a fighter fighting fists you cannot dodge
Like running recklessly through forests with eyes closed
Its all downhill from here
Slippery sloap; soaked with blood
Hurdling towards the wood cutters wedge at the bottom

See the snakes on either side
Keeping you in check on your descent
Gore fills the bottom's torment on either side
You hear the weeping willows cast their final tortured cries

But now you're waking up
Your bed is soaked salty sweaty from nights cruelty
Your fighting once again
Reality's grasp settling slowly in your mind

You raise to shower to do it all again
This is the hour to join the work of men
To climb that hill and push your boulder to the top
To go back home and fall asleep and dream the end