Assassins
G. Freitas / R. Guimarães / W. Mota
Assassins
From great Persia
Blows hot winds
Created by the last breath
Of a thousand men
Carrying the smell of blood (and herbs)
Through the sands of time
Eden on earth
Is where we pay for our crimes
With the sand storm
They will come
Bye the light of their blades
They make their path
Carrying the smell of blood (and herbs)
Through the sands of time
Eden on earth
Is where we pay for our crimes
Nothing can stop us
In the hunt for our prey
We learned the truth
And it leads our way
There?s no truth
There?s no truth at all!
