Our bodies are made from her bones and our names are written on her skin like tattoos of her children's footsteps on the road to cure baby's pain.
Our names we'll hear again.
Baby, you and me can try to keep the memory of her chanting echoing from the canyons of dead monsters.
Blood turned to stone where our heroes looked to cure baby's pain.
Our names we'll hear again.
From her voice our names we'll hear again.
Baby, you and me are made of a young world.
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