These Are They - Evening Widows | Текст песни

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• These Are They
• Evening Widows

Crying, they're deep in pain, soulless, stench of death protrudes them.
Wondering mind, killing dreams, grim reality of the night.
Cold rain pours, hell is here, needles, pins, from the sky.
Flaming light from guns ablaze, take you life, of an evening widow.

And they cry, evening widow. Will they die, evening widow?

To hillside, to bury the dead, black sedans forever come.
Enemies stare, a child will cry, plot of ground, unholy stone.
Dress of black, veil of shame, hiding fear of reprisal.
Where to turn, lady in fear, cold hand of fate, evening widow.

And they cry, evening widow. Will they die, evening widow?

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