In the night, where I live There’s a strange force, in your kids Oh All’s divine in desire With an ire of philosophy Burning scrolls in the naked heat Oh how coy, is your little boy
Because I know, he don’t read that well
I got (I got) Buried (Buried) And it won’t be long before I rise in I got (I got) Buried (Buried) And it won’t be long, yeah
In the night, where I live Your children sway, they fuel the kitsch Raise their glass to Soviet crimes in the war And in shadows, I write, in tongues of old Fumes of fallen, smell and burn like always, always
Because I know, he don’t read that well And I know, only time will tell me
I got (I got) Buried (Buried) No it won’t be long, before I rise in I got (I got) Buried (Buried) No it won’t be long, before I rise in song
And I know, he don’t read that well, yeah
I got (I got) Buried (Buried) No it won’t be long, before I rise in I got (I got) Buried (Buried) Oh no, because I know, I’ve got you