Текст песни Аметист - Игра

The feeling of being hunted is a sip of freedom.
The beast hid, preparing its leap.
Strength and precision are a terrible union.
Only in the pursuit does life have a taste.

Death is a man's game.
Only one will survive.

White sun, blood and sand.
It's too late to think that you could, that you could not.
Maps are created, traces are taken -
You become the target of the hunt!