Your time is money. My pockets are empty. I lay on the grass with no life within me. I hear them call me, my friends underground. They force my eyes open with their cheerful sound. Sometimes I feel like a mother, like a motherless child. And the land around me turns to be a horse. I hold his neck tight with some Indian hopes. He takes me underground among the forgotten bones. Together we bring above your most fearful foes. Now hear their voice. Sometimes I feel like a mother, like a motherless child. Sometimes I feel like the wind underground. Sometimes I feel like its ground-breaking sound. Sometimes I feel like I kill all of your kind.