Under the Gun - Comaniac

The cold herald the fall

And with the fall I see the loss of my own self-composure again

Like the father told his son

Find ground just before you spawn

Frozen is the land how will I find my long gone home

Under pressure

Melting ice can’t clean the wound that set the spirit free

Dead end danger

Cold are the tears of purity

Run

False freedom, I’m under the gun

Run

The hunt quits to seek a place in the sun

But sunset has been long gone

My disease, my degree of disability

Preserves the sun just for a blink

The seasons stop, the hunt goes kill

Avoid what you call reality

The dream is hosting endlessly

Under the spell I keep drifting away

With empty hands and pain in my face