There's water rising on the ridge
The lowlands are covered in smoke
A deep quiet descends
And the night falls like a cloak
And it feels, like gold
And it feels, like gold
There's sickness in the heartland
Lies burning to the East
Still we carry the water, and we carry the flame
We carry our swords like knives to the feast
And it feels, like gold
And it feels, like gold
And it feels, like gold
And it feels, like gold
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