Over the hill marches the army. 
Ten thousand strong, I hear them coming.
And with each step they shake the earth. 
We will run or we will die.
They paint each city they pass red with the blood of its 
people, with no
remorse.
This is the end. 
Like a cloud of locusts, they overtake the land and leave 
behind 
desolation.
The eyes that have seen the terror
and lived to tell of it 
cry for us.
Inaction has brought us here, and here is where we'll 
stay.
This is life as we know it.
And why shouldn't death reflect the life that we have 
lived? 
Stagnant we will perish.
BLLLIIIIIIND!
Blind we will die, 
because blind we have lived.
Blind we will die, 
because blind we have lived.