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
