The sun is a blood red puppet,
Rising ominously on its shimmering strings
Heat shudders on its heaven-ward journey,
Dissipating when as its temper cools off
Red sun on red land…

The red sands take over the beige banks of Africa
White noise a requiem for the lost ones
A song for those who wandered into doom
Into the dunes of poisonous fumes
They are calling…

Stay away from their alluring passionate hues
No nirvana rests behind their false promises
Just an eternal inferno burning on the wayward souls
Who have crossed the unseen border
Calling… they are calling

Scarlet hell hills are beckoning
Promises of pomegranates on silver plates
Just scorpion tails on wooden planks
Look in the morning, the hills are blood red
They call to you…