Here we march through the snow, here we lie in the mud.
The wind aches like a thousand on my skin, my walk mechanic.
My thoughts far away, unable to act, feel numb to the distress.
I can't remember freedom, forgot all faces I loved.
No cry for help through the wire, my existence a number on my skin.
It will take all my power, my last will to live.
I hear the sirens.
Searching lights roam through the night, reports, bloodhounds and hunters