In here, silence’s composed
Of all little, imperfect things
That I never dared to tell
Arctic atmosphere ‘round here

We’ve seen the real life
Of the killing kind
And know death is generous
For all of us

These bounds I cannot pass
Razor open all my veins
The endorphins talking
Every thought an epiphany

I am still standing
The scenery is passing by
In the field of aging
Or into an abyss we all fall

So aware that we have lost
But still we fight like hell
We’ve seen the real life, life of the killing kind