We dream like lions

Warm in the frost

Fresh from the kill

Tiny teeth and claws

We dream like lions

Deep beneath the loam

The windows of his soul

Ash on the watery glass

Broken but still whole

A halo of barbwire

A frozen night of fire

Oh, so cold

We dream like lions

Below and above

The wooly little lambs

That look a lot like us

We dream like lions

The dark poles of the weeping trees cradle him close in the heavy breeze.

Crumbs for the crows slow empire of worms.

We sing the cry of countless broken souls,

"The world is made of razorblades, they choke on the words they'll never say,

I wish it could change, but it will always be this way."

We dream like lions

Warm in the frost

Fresh from the kill

Tiny teeth and claws

We dream like lions

We dream like lions

Below and above

The wooly little lambs

That look a lot like us

We dream like lions