Besedila: Tiamat. A Deeper Kind Of Slumber. Cold Seed.

When all stars are slain by fiery skies
And every word upon your spiraling cross
Is but a misled sun, a bitter loss
Inject us out of here
All I asked for was a little love
But from my hands flew the maiden dove

While clouds like cotton snow-white sheep
Still calm beside their shepherd sleep
Inject us out of here