Atrophy کے بول

There's a wolf amoungst us He wears my face Finding solace In the most fitting place. Lake bound lady Do you enjoy my company As we swim Beneathe the tide With even symetry. What lies beneathe Our tales of sorrow Take this chance For tomorrow... A cold wind Smoothes the surface A half-life becomes a race Removes all perception Invoking as altered states We hold to form The cure and its disease As we swim Beneathe the tide With even symetry What lies beneathe Our tales of sorrow Take this chance For tomorrow... There's a wolf Amoungst us He wears my face Finding Solace Without a trace. What lies beneathe Our tales of sorrow Take this chance For tomorrow...