We put our hearts in your hands, Cold with sorrow; Condemned for our differences. No more tomorrows, a mortal cold. Our lives do not Burn anymore. Yet wings beat the flames! They dance and flick, and Wash away our sins. Our humanity wears its beauty: A coat of blood spat from our tomb. The world is suspended: A pendulum that stops - and the chorus begins. (words by Dzanetos Andros)