Woorden: Draxsen. Chronic Pain. The Cowardly Few.

Out on the streets their there,
The bustling crowds hinder their way
And without fear they press on and on.

[Chorus:]
So in our sheltered homes we wait patiently,
'Til the cowering few
Breath their final breath

And so the plague it spreads,
Selecting prey randomly
Our so it would seem.

[Chorus]

So the bodies they mound, and the people feed on the lies,
feed by the cowering few.

[Chorus]