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The tide of the substances
Furious force, a stunning course
A war unbroken
It s the coil of the combining ends
The dawn of the random fall

I summon the winter, the autumns son
The way of those, the way of mine
I summon the winds, the rage of storms
My way is for those, the sinner s kind
Damnation groan, hear the call

The tide of the substance, spins in the core
Like a furious force kept stunning beyond
It s the coil of the combining ends
The dawn of the random fall

I summon the rivers the ocean s son
The way of those the way of mine
I summon the motion, the presence of time
My way is for those, the sinner s kind

Beware the sight of those
Those who were my sight
Beware the hate of those
Who rivals as the storms
Who storms as rivals
At the plains, in the havoc
The rivalry of phantoms

The erosion is my war, die you may
The wind is my passion. Utterly you weep
The rivers are my blood, drown you may
The wind is my passion, the passion to fight

All you have to do is touch my hand
To show me that you understand
And something happens to me
That s some kind of wonderful
Anytime my little world turns blue
I just have to look at you
Everything seems to be some kind of wonderful

I know...

Bésame so strange it
is you taste of the mistaken thing.
It must be that for a month
everything between both it has been mixed to us.
And now it is as if just it knew you.
You are fresh and in the wind you become breeze when you arrive.
I you dire what we can...

Three days, eight hours, fourteen minutes gone
you bend, i break like in every song
maybe i m too scared to call
maybe i m too tough to fall

CHORUS:
everything you are
everything reminds me of
everything you are
fades to black
everytime i see...

Let s fight

We re face to face
Loyalty is what I need to see from you
You re insecure
I can see the fear that breeds in your heart
Where will you run? Where will you hide?
I see the look drift from your eyes
Who will survive?...

It was summer when they finally came, the law of force
and line upon line of machine upon machine, back into the greenwood,
closer to the heart of things we go - beneath the wires stretched against the sky,
spitting out in desperation - stop the killing . . .
The wind...