Mountains bend before this grief, Rivers stop their mighty flow. Prison gates stand stiff and brief, Pit holes where the convicts go. Deadly anguish fills the air, Breathless, suffocating there. For some, the wind blows fresh and free, For some, the sunset warms their skin. We don't know, we're all the same, you see, Hearing only keys' grim hymn, Hearing only soldiers' tread, Marching heavy, marching dead. We rose like pilgrims at early mass, Walked through the capital gone wild. Met there, more lifeless than the grass, Sun lower, Neva mistier, child. But hope still sings somewhere far, Hope still sings somewhere far. Sentence falls—and tears break through, Cut off from everyone, alone. As if life itself was torn from you, As if you were roughly overthrown. But she walks... she staggers... walks alone. But she walks... she staggers... walks alone. We rose like pilgrims at early mass, Walked through the capital gone wild. Met there, more lifeless than the grass, Sun lower, Neva mistier, child. But hope still sings somewhere far, Hope still sings somewhere far. Mountains bend. Rivers stop. Prison gates. Never open. We rose like pilgrims at early mass, Walked through the capital gone wild. Met there, more lifeless than the grass, Sun lower, Neva mistier, child. But hope still sings somewhere far, Hope still sings somewhere far. But she walks... She staggers... Walks alone.
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