What holy cities are to nomadic tribes - a symbol of race and a bond of union - great books are to the wandering souls of men: they are the Meccas of the mind.
G.E. Woodberry
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Underworld
You think you’re winning but you’ll lose the fight
You’re in the darkness and you’ll never see the light
You can’t sleep you’re in too deep in your underworld
Stepping out messing up that’s your game
You play with fire but you can’t put out the flame
It’s your turn to get burned in your underworld
I will bury you in your underworld
I will bury you in your underworld
There’s no church for you no sanctuary
There’s no place to hide you can’t get away from me
You can’t run to a place in the sun
You’re in your underworld
You can’t run, you can’t run, you can’t run
You’ll get done, you’ll get done, you’ll get done
I will bury you, I will bury you
Your time is running out that’s for sure
They’re gonna track you down cause you back’s to the wall
You can’t run you’ll get done in your underworld