слова песни At The Gates - The Fevered Circle
Each day a mournful pity
Life looks upon you with scorn
Hopes flee, visions elude
As your feeble breath is turn
Six sinister thorns of beaty
The claws of the nondivine
Our right to breathe
Our right to bleed
Forever denied
What some seek in the depths of the unknown
Need not be sought so far
The truth of what we are
Each day a fevered circle