Текст песни 32 - Похорони мертвецов

What is left on these roads
Burned corpses ideas
People are afraid of the birth of light
Thoughts like animals

This fear raises doubts
Fear weaves tangles
Afraid to look like over and over again
stand Up dead

bury the Dead
Fuck them cover the nail
bury the Dead
Throwing into the grave for a handful of a handful of

What is left on these roads
Crows circling thoughts
Dead flesh of rotten beliefs
Will seek Me

Are born pure feelings
When like scars scars
Surging thoughts grave
Of these, the dead rise