The Gathering
In this Siberian cold...we gather around the fire
To overthink it all...the promise we made
The things we did...the painful memories
The chances we had...to save the world!
There are no means of grace
So it's obvious we lay
Violent hands on ourselves
And give ourselves a coup de grace
So that we're gone forever...forever gone!
No more chance...to stop pollution
From escalating...into a disease
No more chance...to stop corruption
That takes poor people's hope...for a better life!
There are no means of grace
So it's obvious we lay
Violent hands on ourselves
And give ourselves a coup de grace
So that we're gone forever...forever gone!
No more chance! To stop pollution! No more chance! To stop corruption!
As the fire crackles...we lay ourselves down
To think it over again...and we take a glance
Of the fading beauty...of the land covered in snow
On this deserted hill...we give up the world!
When I sleep...I dream the same dream
Over and over again...I dream I'm gonna die
And the more I scream...it wakes up the dragon inside!