DESCRIPTION:
Good old band

It's an avalanche, I don't want to wait just to dig the dead bodies out, just to find ourselves shaking our heads.
Then, shaking the same hands that moved mountains into the seas.
Move out of the red into the grey area, and onto the flat line.
Gagged and bound for glory with one way down and no way out.
We're teething on a wishbone made of oil, and seething in a white room painted red.
We're gagged and bound for glory with a one-way ticket to death.
I don't see the reason to follow the pack, they just tear each other to pieces without looking back.
I don't see the reason to follow the herd, they're just bred for slaughter then fed back to sheep.
When skies start falling, they're falling on everyone.

I don't own the music.
all rights go to their owners