The black birds fly
To mourn the Moon
Followed closely
By heart alone

A thousand torches
Ten meters high
We'll shoot the whole scene
A different knife

And wash it all away
Up, up, up and away
Down below

The orchard
Is burning

Ten thousand extras
Brushed past the tides
Horsed back the laceman
Charged through the ranks

The roads were all old
At your command
As he hand the stones
In your hands

Throw them all away
Throw them all away
Way down below

The orchard
Is burning