Throw of the scent
To seace the chase of life
When one with death no light in sight
I have been told that before the end
The angels [bad word]  angels [bad word] 
Years has taken the best out of me
The sharpest edge
Endless burdensome journey without a rest 
Murder in cold blood instead of a suicide
This crime is justified
I have killed myself so many times
That for me wihtout a doubt
Heaven is denyed 
I am here, I am waiting, In silence
With no fear of dying 
No more bleeding inside
Waiting for the black sun to rise