Из альбома: Temple Of Low Men
Out here in panic and alarm
Black shapes gather in the distance
The first drops land on the window
The first sign that there's something wrong
Which way, which way
Two days till I get to you
Where I go there'll be no kind welcome
Coming down upon me
Feel my face
Now the insects swarm
Fear will take the place of desire
And we will fan the flames on high
The sky fell underneath a blanket
The sun sank as the miles went by
When you remember it makes you cry
Ghost cars on the freeway
One by one they are disappearing
Time will keep me warm
Now the insects swarm
In the lowlands
And we will fan the flames on high