Waching daily Jul 29 2018

Deep-blue water, far as we can see.

The groaning of metal, the roar of the guns.

Our fingers are frozen there's salt on our skin

And a terrible tension is burning inside (us).

And a terrible tension is burning inside (us).

And a terrible tension is burning inside (us).

Many miles we sailed from home

In our house made of steel.

The nights and the days They seem like a dream

That forever repeats and it's scaring me

This death that awaits in the sky, beyond the horizon and beneath the sea.

The wind rises, the waves get taller and taller,

cradling us into the rhythm of these sounds of fire.

And there's smoke on the water,

As far as I can see.

This groaning of metal, the roar of these guns.

My fingers are frozen, there's salt on my skin

That terrible tension still burning inside me.