Besedila: Anatomy Of A Ghost. Evanesce. Distress In The Control Tower.

We're surrounded
JUST DROP THE GUN!
The fields have been cut off with stars and black windmills
The ticking clock spins out of control

Erosion claims the monuments
Wires rust sets the ghost with such hollow empty sound
Breaking on its touch to eardrums
Traversing these low vibrations to an awful piercing pitch
So tear us down so we can cut our throats
Leaving the words written in sky
No we won't put these hands down tonight

Breathing takes practice and its practice we missed
So we die end transmission we're giving up
Climb the spires in hopes of

The flowing uncut grass climbs up all in efforts to drag us down
Hidden from the stand off as if they wouldn't look

Turn the lights low
Wasting precious time
Wait for no one
Tell it like it is

(Sudden FULL sudden REVERSE)