I know one day, all our scars will disappear. Like the stars at dawn and all of our pain. Will fade away when morning comes. . And on that day when we look backwards we will see.
This darkness would eclipse our will. A cold wind blows across these hills. A swinging gaze from a hangman's tree. A crow's-nest view of what's left to see.
Tell me, are you free?. Tell me, are you free?. In thought or word or deed. Tell me, are you free?. . While the gallows stand, bullets lance the bravest lungs.