Cuts on your chest makes me feel like Judas.
How could I let happen again?
Where is my gold? Where I put my foot on?
Is there a cross for my kind of man?
Holding your hand. You’re holding your drink.
The sweat on my wrinkles is giving me away.
To open up and play it all in -
Cruel invitation to swordplay.
Music & Lyrics © Esin Sergeev 2021