Water Was Running, Children Were Running you Were Running Out Of Time under The Mountain, A Golden Fountain were You Praying At The Lares Shrine but Oh Your City Lies In Dust, My Friend
we Found You Hiding -- We Found You Lying choking On The Dirt And Sand your Former Glories And All The Stories dragged And Washed With Eager Hands but Oh Your City Lies In Dust, My Friend
hot And Burning -- In Your Nostrils pouring Down Your Gaping Mouth your Molten Bodies -- Blanket Of Cinders caught In The Throes... and Oh Your City Lies In Dust