ningunlado

Be something that amounts to nothing the threatA wrecking ball plowing through our karma, We have no confident voice in our ears for tonight, Exist in memory (the) only headline

We have been through change, by the season of the storms, Its irony, the cleansing
Except eccentric faith, to need religion, To sit high among the elect, On march the Saints

There's no such thing as a good time for bad luck, As minutes turn to distressed fragmented moments
Reading lips unable to hear the talk, Partake no tangible out in tomorrow

We have seen the change, from the season of the storms, Its irony, the cleansing, With all our lives at stake, from at rest to present, Are sitting high, among the elect,  On march the Saints

MARCH