"Lots" lyrics

Head south
Headstong
Wake each
Grey dawn
Hold on
Weakness
No prints
Princess
Mother
My nest
One choice to make
Get ready to go

Feel like we've been here before
Without a choice and insecure
Of where we'd be without this net around
Yet we've always hated it
Now we stand upon a chance
To break the chains and break the lance
That cuts into the heart
And burns the essence of our dream's desire

No hope
In sight
Held on
Too tight
Skyline
Burnt down
No crops
Dust cloud
Blind dogs
Run deep
Pale surf
Cold feet
One choice to make
Get ready to go
Cold throne
No sire
Black earth
Past fire
Flushed out
Regret
No past
No sense
Brave days
Ahead
None rest
None yet
One choice to make
Get ready to go