Adrift - Cult Of Luna

In his arms, locked in that iron grip nothing will reveal

Follow these footsteps and we will reach the bottom

I tumbled down the road that bears his name

Here he dwells, here he prospers and pushes us towards the end

When we are drifting against the tide

Colliding with the very air we breathe

Somewhere the tracks inwards must lead out

A grasp of hope that defeats the will

Always pushed away

Always nothing