What is left to give when you've spent four years in hiding scared by the frustration of your shadow consulting condolences from a weary disease of mourning widows?
This is the life you have chosen, the life you have abandoned,
You have lived for the wrong reasons: a repulsion of desire.
You live for yourself, destroy the free world.
You breathe on your own, destroy the free world.
You breathe on your own in a futile world.
You live your life full of blizzards and cowards.
Iced in, in captivity, this world has taken control.
Through frozen eyes we see ice glaze poetry prolonged by icy memories.
We are the kings left to grow old in this town.
We are the kings left to grow old.
I can't breathe when we are destined for tragedy.
We are the kings left to grow old in this town.
Diffused by your self-relentless crown!
(We are the kings left to grow old in this town)