Cult Of Luna. The Beyond. Receiver. Zeneszám

A deep sore dragged through ages
The sores are my own, I know
Wounds collected through a lifetime
And wisdom I pick up along the way

I received the spit from a snake
And the snare cut real deep
I was caught in her womb
Something spreading in my veins

Those walls I faced alone. I crept on bounded knees
The own will just vanished. I wept my compassion away,
with tears that flooded your heart. No river leads back to mine.
I bow down in soil and whisper
I gather strength to spread the disease