Down they streets march, armored men with skin as white as moonlight.
They paint the stone red, invoke fear in the ones who disobey them.
Ashen grey maidens they take in their arms, never to be seen again.
And I here I am, walking down the streets of Paarlaathar.
Waiting to be taken as well, by those moonlight soldiers.
Their eyes burn red with fury and violence.
They want us to be contained, to be their loyal subjects.
The ashen skinned rebellions, all cut down.
We're just birds in a cage, awaiting to be freed from our confinement.
If you like it or not, believe or cannot not fathom, we're all chained down.
Crushed by their oppression.
Drowning in dark red, icy cold... water.
