If it weren’t because I carry my life written under my gun,
if it weren’t because the long end of this road never comes.
If it weren’t for this border,
if I no longer lived looking back,
if it weren’t.
I have changed both my name and my home a thousand times.
In this long escape we have been given shelter in a thousand hideouts.
All that will be left for us will be the ashes
of the full life we lost
and a memory,
and a memory.
Until the wind blows away the mist,
we will live on in memory,
we remain free in the shadows.
Until the wind blows away the mist,
we will write our history,
we will return from the darkness.
I wish my memory would draw your face every so often,
I wish I could turn back time and hold you in my arms again,
I wish fear were hope,
and I could hear the column march on
to the combat,
to the combat.
Until the wind blows away the mist…