We Dream Like Lions

We dream like lions
 Warm in the frost
 Fresh from the kill
 Tiny teeth and claws
 We dream like lions
 Deep beneath the loam
 The windows of his soul
 Ash on the watery glass
 Broken but still whole
 A halo of barbwire
 A frozen night of fire
 Oh, so cold
 We dream like lions
 Below and above
 The wooly little lambs
 That look a lot like us
 We dream like lions
 The dark poles of the weeping trees cradle him close in the heavy breeze. Crumbs for the crows, slow empire of worms. We sing the cry of countless broken souls, "the world is made of razorblades, they choke on the words they'll never say, I wish it could change, but it will always be this way."
 We dream like lions
 Warm in the frost
 Fresh from the kill
 Tiny teeth and claws
 We dream like lions
 We dream like lions
 Below and above
 The wooly little lambs
 That look a lot like us
 We dream like lions