Sons by Icehouse
We don't know this place
this wasted stretch of land
and these steaming horizons
it's locked in our past
it's stragely so familiar
like a scar on our memory
no sign of the ancient heroes
who gave us this one last hour
it's so still, there's so few of us here
there's no sound here at all
the last light disappears
with the Sons of decay
the ones left to stay
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