At the end of day, deep colours slide across this landscape,
At the end of day, I meet the hills now lit by hardships,
And it's a long, lasting, lonesome trail.
And the peat stained brooks,
They sluggishly trickle through the valley,
And the frost claimed trees, a crimson glow with warm, sharp branches,
And it's a long, lasting, lonesome trail, it's a long,
Lasting, lonesome trail, and it's a long, lasting, lonesome trail.
And the thumping sun, on the caking, crackling ground of winter,
As night settles in, the whispers fall upon our shelter,
As we hear those lonesome, longing friends,
As we hear those lonesome, longing friends,
As we hear those lonesome, longing friends.
At the end of day, our echoes cry across this landscape,
For here we stay, as heathers spread across our hardships,
As we hear those lonesome, longing friends,
As we hear those lonesome, longing friends,
As we hear those lonesome, longing friends,
As we hear those lonesome, longing friends,
As we hear those lonesome, longing friends,
As we hear those lonesome, longing friends.
At the end of day, our echoes cry across this landscape,
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