|
Rome |
|
wilde lager |
|
we're clubbing traitors in green summer fields |
|
reality is changing colour |
|
all the nation's sad sweetness |
|
is flowing from their eyes |
|
and kneaded into time |
|
the sun in our eyes and the rain on our boots |
|
as black as our gift to the world |
|
in this warm bath of black blood |
|
we would give our skin for a beautiful drum |
|
we're chasing traitors through green summer fields |
|
all the way back across the waters |
|
and we would do just about anything |
|
just to translate this void into substance |
|
wanting to daub time over |
|
with thick colours |
|
in this sultry heat |
|
this stifling fever heat |
|
we are tender young gods |
|
love and despair locked in an embrace |
|
two wilted flowers black and green |
|
love and despair locked in an embrace |
|
truth changed its smell as it aged |
|
in the sweat of the august days |
|
in the summer of surrender |
