In here, silence’s composed Of all little, imperfect things That I never dared to tell Arctic atmosphere ‘round here We’ve seen the real life Of the killing kind And know death is generous For all of us These bounds I cannot pass Razor open all my veins The endorphins talking Every thought an epiphany I am still standing The scenery is passing by In the field of aging Or into an abyss we all fall So aware that we have lost But still we fight like hell We’ve seen the real life, life of the killing kind