Held by winter's chokehold fast
Fixed in anxiety's firm grip
Frost that burn the arteries
Underneath the heavy clouds
The lifted sword, the broken shield
The hand that drew the final word
From the frozen mouth of Arkhangelsk
Let them go, let them burn the world to cinders
And let their heads hang down
Falling through the tungsten skies
On the burning grounds of Arkhangelsk
To the eye of judgement now
One will stand in the time of the end
Sun to stone, air to fire
All to nothing and nothing to lose
They gather, drowned to the sounds
Of the grinding wheels of Arkhangelsk
With one word, one movement in the fabric
Everything dies
The storm that sweeps the world away
From the frozen plains of Arkhangelsk
Inherit from the morning star
What others brought and the land forgot
Soaring through the narrow belts
Through blazing stars, through dying suns
Collide not now, but carry us
Through the burning air of Arkhangelsk
|
Switch to Russian 
