Original subtitles

Downloaded from YTS.MX

Official YIFY movies site: YTS.MX

(music)

(old-style music)

(thudding)

(metal scraping)

¶ Don't wake me ¶

¶ I'm dreaming ¶

¶ Dreaming of being with you ¶

¶ Don't... ¶

¶ Don't wake me ¶

¶ I'm dreaming ¶

¶ Dreaming of being... ¶¶

(distant screaming)

(gunfire)

(distant gunfire)

(distant gunfire)

(bird cawing)

(man): Jim. Jim, it's a job.

It's a job, Jim.

(men screaming)

It's Harris.

Jim.

Jim.

We've got a gig, Jim.

We're gonna get you out. Yeah?

Pay the general, no firing squad,

Gulf Stream at the airport.

Hostiles, minimal. Local assets on the surface.

Once inside the underground facility, nothing.

- Why me? - You're a specialist,

Mr. Powell.

We don't want to start a war. We want discretion and speed.

- We take out the scientist-- - "Take out"?

- The research Dr. Irvine is involved in

is at a very advanced stage. We need to strike immediately

before the work is complete and Dr. Irvine disappears.

You'll be escorting Dr. Healy here

into the facility. She knows the research,

and will direct you in what to take.

She'll be in charge.

- I've put the team back together.

The old team, yeah? Your team.

They're ready to go.

- Who's this? - Spencer, meet Powell.

Spencer is company security. He's with me.

- No surprises. No passengers on this gig.

- He's part of the deal.

- What do you mean, he's part of the deal?

Is he part of the deal, Doug?

- He works for the company.

(bird cawing) (distant gunfire)

- You okay, boss?

- Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine.

It's just been a while. I'm okay.

- Shit.

Mines.

- Boss, bike tracks.

They seem to go straight through the minefield.

- Recent?

- Looks like a regular route. New and old tracks.

But we're taking a hell of a risk.

- Okay, Mason. Give it a go.

Stay in the tracks. - Should we go around?

- No. We're on a tight schedule.

Your schedule.

Everyone off the path. Now! Now!

- Fuck it.

- Shhh.

Shhh.

Spencer.

Put it away.

(Steinmann breathing raggedly) Shhh.

It's a perimeter patrol.

Probably does this route two or three times a day.

(Steinmann): Chechens.

Terrorists, paid goons.

They're killers, murderers, rapists.

The usual. (distant voices and gunfire)

This used to be Soviet army barracks.

Twenty-five miles around here in every direction

was ethnically cleansed.

The poor guys in the cages are dissidents,

rebels, civilians, you name it.

- The facility? - Underneath.

Cold War bunker system. Not much info on it.

You'll need to ask her about that.

The militia leader, El Dictator there,

likes to douse the prisoners in oil and set them alight.

Hobby of his.

(distant voices)

- It's time.

- Williams, come in.

Are you in position? - For fuck's sake.

Uh, you could say that.

- Proceed, and good luck.

- Let me do the talking, Harris. I'll get us in.

- I bet you weren't expecting this welcoming committee.

- Looks like a raiding party coming back.

- Look at that one. He should be at school.

(neighing)

- Ah...

- Jesus Christ.

- Okay, this is the main militia base.

(shouting and gunfire)

(woman exclaiming in fear)

(gunfire)

- Looks like dissidents brought in for questioning.

- Shit. Here we go.

(gunshot) (woman screaming)

(rifle cocking)

- In position. I can take the two on the right of the car.

- See you. I have three-four this side.

- It didn't sound like Russian. Fuck.

That definitely isn't Russian.

- Local dialect. They're not Russians.

They're Uzbeks.

- Jesus Christ, Harris. What the...?

Harris, for fuck's sake.

- Corry, you seeing this? - I'm seeing it.

- What the fuck are you doing, Harris?

- Vodka. Harris has been drinking again.

Steinmann, Corry,

get ready, make it clean. - Wait.

- Bugger.

- We're in.

(typing)

Stand by, everyone. Stand by.

Where the fuck did you learn to talk like that?

- I'm not just a pretty face, me, you know.

- Bingo. I've got it.

Be at the north wall in 12 minutes.

The north wall is clear.

I repeat, the north wall is clear.

- Which part?

- Shmitovsky Prospekt.

(speaking Russian)

And you?

- What's wrong with our system?

- Just replacing several cables and a couple of blown fuses.

- And turned that monitor off. - This monitor?

Yeah, yeah, I was just checking the ATP cables.

You want it back on?

(inhaling)

- Don't smell Russian. - He's not Russian.

He's a fucking Georgian liar.

I think he might be trying to get into your knickers.

And I can't say I blame him.

Drink?

- What is so important that they send two engineers

to check our shitty cameras?

- I think she likes you. Hmm?

Corry, they're in. Meet me at the rendezvous.

(Russian chatter)

(woman whimpering)

- So what do we do, boss? Do we cut her down?

- If we set her free, they'll find her.

Take her with us, she'll slow us down.

Either way, they'll know we were here.

- We can't take her with us, not down there.

- We can't leave her like this, now she's seen us.

- She's not gonna say much.

(gunfire)

(groaning)

- No, they're all pissed up with the radio blaring.

Some Azerbaijani funk. Never heard a thing.

- Doug, lights!

- Powell, she's dead.

One of the shots caught her.

- Great. Now what?

- They won't be looking for anyone else now.

Crime of passion.

Horny fucker. We go?

- Let's go. Go.

Doug, go back to Williams. Keep the engineering act going.

Let's go.

Drunk as skunks out there. Some terrible fucking singing.

(indistinct radio chatter)

(distant voices)

(woman speaking Russian over PA system)

(Powell): Healy, how do we find the facility?

- We had an operative infiltrate it six weeks ago.

The facility is half a mile underground.

It's this way.

(Russian chatter)

(clattering)

They don't use these tunnels anymore.

We go down.

- Down.

What's down here?

- This part of the bunker goes back to the 1950s.

Offices, infirmary and canteens for Soviet troops.

Who knows what else.

- Great. Sounds like a maze of tunnels.

- Yeah, it's a maze.

- What d'you reckon happened here?

- Execution. See the marks on the wall?

Their hands are tied behind their backs.

- Maybe.

So why's this one still got his AK?

- Looks like he was trying to stop something getting in here.

- It happened a long time ago.

Could be related to the civil war.

Revenge killings, executions. - Healy!

Corry.

- No, not an explosive.

Radio transmitter.

We trip that, it sends a signal... somewhere.

- This is recent.

Seems like the good doctor s expecting visitors.

(Harris groaning) - Harris?

Harris!

Come see this now.

- For fuck's sake, Williams.

(beeping)

(sighing)

Williams, I can't see a fucking thing.

- Alright, just keep watching.

(soldier mumbling)

- They've got company.

- Someone's following them.

- Jim. Come in, Jim.

(radio static)

Jim, come in.

Can't reach them.

Gone too deep.

Stay here.

I wouldn't touch the rest of his stew, by the way.

- Steinmann, what is it?

Are we being followed?

- If we are, they're good, they're very good.

- Is it contaminated?

- Well... I wouldn't go drinking it.

(panting softly)

(creature screeching) - Ah!!

(Powell): You okay? Corry?

Corry? You okay?

Clear? (Steinmann): Clear?

- Clear.

- What happened? - Somebody was here.

- Did you see him? - Yeah.

Come up behind me.

Christ, they were quiet.

I think I winged him.

(Mason): Can't see anything.

There's no blood.

- Sure there was somebody? - Yes, fucking sure.

- So what do we do, boss? Go after 'em?

- I say we hunt them down.

- It's like a maze down here. We could be searching for days.

They attacked in darkness,

so they know the layout of the place.

We could hit an ambush, tripwires.

We keep moving.

We stay sharp.

(Russian chatter)

- You okay?

- Yeah, yeah.

Yeah, yeah.

I'm just sick of these fucking tunnels, that's all.

Don't you find it hot?

- No, no, it's fucking freezing down here.

- Oh, fuck.

(whimpering)

- Corry, hurry up.

(crying)

- What are you doing?

- Just checking the monitors.

- You seem very interested in monitors.

I'd like you to meet Gregory.

I have high hopes for Gregory.

I think he will make an excellent soldier.

- Yeah, I'm sure he will.

- Despite his obvious drawbacks.

- Such as?

- Gregory is from the mountains

and his Russian is rudimentary.

He only speaks local dialects and, of course, Georgian,

as his family are from there.

I forgot...

you are from Georgia yourself, are you not?

- Tbilisi.

I'm from Tbilisi.

It's a lovely place.

(panting)

(coughing)

(hissing)

- Gas. Gas! Gas.

(coughing)

Gas! Move!

(creature screeching)

Move! (coughing)

Move! Let's go! Move! (screeching)

- You don't bring a syringe to a gunfight.

- Keep moving!

Move! Move! Get on!

Move! Move! Move!

Let's go.

- Jesus.

(cock cocking)

(screeching)

(coughing)

- This is it.

The lab is here.

(beep)

(distant screaming)

- The medical facility? - This way.

This way.

(Harris panting)

(beeping)

- Still a killer, Jim, eh?

Still a killer.

- It's okay. It's a clean exit.

- Don't wake me up.

Don't wake me up.

Dreaming...

- Let's find Irvine.

(lullaby-type music)

(woman moaning)

(moaning)

(moaning)

(moaning)

(opera music)

(beeping)

(woman sobbing)

- I suspected it was you.

- Down. Down.

(woman crying out)

- Pre-eclampsia, type 19.

I'm trying to control it with magnesium sulphate.

- Help me get her over there. Help me.

(woman moaning)

- Could I get up, please? This is uncomfortable.

I had to risk it.

- I warned you this would happen.

- Who's the girl?

- Specimen A. Ali. A for Ali. - Specimen?

She's the specimen you wanted? - One of two.

- So you're just going to steal them?

- And yourself too, apparently. - No.

Not me. She just wants me dead.

- One of my men is missing.

- It's easily done.

Miles of tunnels, steps, no lights.

- Yeah, and a few syringe-waving lunatics.

- Oh...

They alright? - Yeah, they're fine.

They tried to fucking kill us, but they're doing really well.

- Two of them are dead. Who are they?

I sense this is some kind of fucking game

between the two of you and I'm not laughing.

Who are they?!

- War orphans. I found them wandering the tunnels, starving.

I train them, they assist me.

And they're also useful as a deterrent.

They scare those men upstairs from getting too curious.

- What's in the syringes?

- Used to be loads of biological agents stored in the tunnels,

Soviet bio-warfare stuff. It's an unpleasant cocktail.

Not advisable to get dosed.

- How long has she got, Mathesis?

- Your timing is perfect, Lyla, as always. Hours.

(moaning)

- We can't leave. The girl is due to give birth.

- Mason, keep your gun on her.

Steinmann. Steinmann.

Sit down. You look like shit. (Ali crying out)

Healy, a word.

Now.

Move.

- It's okay.

(beeping) (Ali moaning)

- You were the operative who was here six weeks ago,

weren't you? So what happened?

Lovers' tiff?

- We disagreed. - She's your boss.

- We were both employed-- - She was the lead scientist,

and you were under her.

We're leaving in 30 minutes.

- We can't take the girl. The move will kill her.

- And I can't risk Williams being crucified by that mob

and our only escape route cut off!

- I'm in charge down here, Powell. We stay.

- And I don't like being lied to.

You have 30 minutes. Figure it out.

(beeping)

(Ali moaning)

My employers were very clear

that I ask no questions about you or your work.

My employers, however, neglected to inform me

about certain pertinent facts

concerning this little jaunt of ours, which means...

that I have a missing operative, I have a half-gassed crew,

and I have an old friend in the next room

with a bullet wound in his stomach.

So...

Why don't you tell me what all the fuss is about?

(moaning)

- The old Soviet Union kept many secrets.

They spent a lot of money on all the sciences,

particularly if they felt that branch of science

could be weaponized.

For any young scientist,

this was a lure.

I was a young Cambridge graduate

and I was approached with an astonishing proposal.

The Russians were and are experts

at the hard sciences, but genetics,

well, the UK, Switzerland, the USA, naturally,

had left the Russians behind.

But they had their own program.

This vast country is littered

with the craters of meteorite strikes.

Some are famous, like the 1908 Tunguska event.

Some hit this planet millions of years ago.

Throughout the Cold War,

Soviet scientists explored each site,

looking for anything

that might help them against their Western enemies,

anything that might lead to something handy,

like the atom bomb, for example.

No, it's not that. This is the Scintilla Project.

It's why they approached me.

This is a 2.4-billion-year-old meteorite

buried in permafrost for at least 70 million years.

When this hit the Earth,

dinosaurs were still romping around.

What the Soviet scientists discovered

was organic material inside this rock:

cells, DNA, genetics.

They needed a world expert in genetics

to be able to extract the DNA and to be able to use it.

I was approached for the job.

- And they promised you vast riches.

- Lord, no. Anyway, it wouldn't have interested me.

They offered me something better.

Complete freedom to work on this

without being constrained by any rules.

- Laws.

- Yes, if you like, laws.

- What Mathesis discovered-- - Shhh now.

Why don't I show you?

- Why all the kids' toys and the blackboard?

- The specimens need to be educated

so I can assess their growth,

compare them to normal children.

- Children?

That girl's 16 or 17, isn't she?

- She's five.

Goethe.

He can't speak, but can just about understand

basic commands like a chimpanzee.

He looks normal, other than the eyes

and the breathing spiracle in his neck.

He can breathe in our atmosphere for brief periods of time,

but in here I can adapt the mix

to make it more comfortable for him.

I'm still checking his respiratory system, nerves.

He has grown so quickly.

- How old?

- Goethe is also five.

- What the fuck?

- Let's talk outside.

(coughing) - You okay?

- What's wrong with her breathing?

- Your fucking gas.

Thanks.

- What the fuck is he?

- Half human,

and half is that DNA from the meteorite.

- Half?

- I needed the human base to fill in the gaps in the DNA.

The offspring of the girl will be a second-generation subject,

more alien than Goethe or Ali.

Purer, brighter, hopefully.

- Goethe.

You had to call him Goethe, didn't you?

Not Joe or Tom.

- You really don't understand this.

- I'm not paid to understand this.

I'm paid to do a job, to honour my clients' needs.

- Do you think her plan involves you and your band of merry men

swanning out of here

with your pockets full of cash?

(distorted electronic voice)

(Ali moaning)

(Healy): The progress of the subjects is remarkable.

In four short years,

they have almost reached full height

and we have not yet experienced the usual discrepancies.

The boy shows no signs of intelligence yet,

but Mathesis is most excited about the girl

and her breeding possibilities.

Mathesis's ambition continues to grow.

After years of disappointment,

it is like she is rushing through this headlong.

I am concerned.

- Argh!

(beep)

- He failed even the simplest sight-recognition tests.

The two subjects are a year old today.

As these two look like surviving,

I've given them names: Goethe and Ali.

Their eyes are still very sensitive to light

and we have difficulty getting the atmosphere mix right,

so they have been in some discomfort breathing,

especially at night.

They ignore our presence, but seem to have an instinct

and understanding of one another.

The girl displays maternal instincts

as a normal human child might.

The boy is... distant.

I cannot yet work out what he is thinking,

if he is thinking at all.

Today I set the children

a hand-eye brain-coordination and exploration test

with some simple toys.

The results, as last time, are disappointing.

Goethe has managed to put together

only a few of the pieces.

He shows little aptitude or interest.

The girl, Ali, shows even less invention or interest.

I will MRI-scan them both to try and determine

the cause of this apathy, but I have a growing fear

that they are just slow-witted specimens.

(door opening)

(beep)

(Ali moaning) - You need to get in there now.

No, not you. Her.

- Nothing is working. I can't stop the pain.

We're gonna lose her.

- No. No, we can--

- I warned you. Her physiology is too different,

too unknown. You should've tested more.

(Ali groaning, then crying out)

(screaming)

Mathesis, you'll kill her.

You can't. She'll bleed internally.

- She already is bleeding. For hours.

I've been monitoring her.

She's not going to survive the birth,

but I at least have a chance

of saving the offspring. - You knew.

(Ali screaming) - It was all I could do.

(Ali screaming)

- Is she dying?

- Get out.

- Is she dying?

- She's dying. - Can you save her?

- It's not a case of saving her.

She's brought the child to full term despite everything.

- Can you save her? - No.

- Can you stop the pain? - I have tried.

Normal opiate analgesic drugs don't work.

I've tried everything. (screaming)

- So she's gonna die in agony. - Look, just get out.

I don't have time for a medical lesson.

She's in pain. There's not much I can do.

You and I need to prepare for a Caesarean section.

- Without drugs?

- Yes, unfortunately, without drugs.

- I'm sorry. (flatlining)

- Have you any idea of the billions of dollars

of research you've just-- (screaming)

- You fucking bitch!!! - Calm it! Calm!

That's enough. Enough.

- You can still do the C-section and save the foetus.

- Her physiology means the foetus dies when she does.

It's too late.

(coughing)

- Take a minute, okay? Calm.

Calm. Calm.

(creatures roaring)

They're still out there.

You okay? - Yeah.

- You sure? Okay.

(creatures screeching)

Time to go, folks.

I'm gonna need help moving Harris.

Maybe we can find something to give him

to help him make it to the top and outta here.

- I'm not leaving. - You are leaving.

- I've lived here 17 years. I'm not leaving now.

Either here or out there, I'm dead already,

so I prefer you leave me here or finish it now.

- The company's orders are to take the research,

the specimens, destroy the facility,

including Dr. Irvine.

- You want me to kill her?

Why wait to tell me now?

- Everything that we learnt about you

said you could be stubborn, reluctant.

- But why kill her?

- She's a liability to my company.

We can't trust her.

- I'm not an assassin.

- Come on, you kill people for money, for fuck's sake.

- Granted.

And yes, you're right, I am stubborn.

And no,

today I won't be killing any scientists.

Now, I want us all to move. Now. Right now!

- There's a £2 million bonus for each of you if you do this.

- I'm sorry, your sister, she's dead.

Mm.

(Goethe grunting)

- Dr. Irvine, you can help us by calling off your mole rats.

We're leaving. Now.

- I'm sorry, she isn't coming.

- Mason, disarm her.

(groaning)

(groaning)

- Mason, no.

- Don't give me those fake father fucking bullshit eyes.

It's good old Mason.

Good old loyal fucking Mason!

He'll be there to have your back.

He'll do all the fucking killing!

No more loyal fucking Mason.

- What did they offer you? - How much did they offer me?

- What the fuck did they offer you?!

They offered me the car, they offered me the big house,

they offered me the holiday in fucking Honolulu.

What do you think they offered me?

Money. They offered me money, Jim,

and they offered me respect.

That's what they offered me.

You tell him.

- Head of internal security.

(Powell laughing)

(panting)

- They're gonna fucking kill you, mate.

They're gonna fucking put a gun to the back of your head

and blow your pathetic little fucking brains out.

(groaning)

- By the way, Harris...

he planned all this.

He said he needed the money. He said you would see sense.

- Lyla.

- You tried to kill me, Mathesis.

Spencer,

wait until we've left.

Don't shoot!

- Goethe, what are you doing out?

- Goethe, remember me?

You were my special little boy, remember?

- I doubt he has the capacity to feel anything.

(whimpering)

- Mason, grab him out, please. - I'll get him.

Goethe,

I've asked you nicely.

Could you please go back to your room?

- Oh, no.

Steinmann? Steinmann?

Can you hear me? Steinmann. Are you okay?

Steinmann.

- No, don't move her.

Both her leg and arm are badly fractured.

I'm gonna need supplies from medical.

- Stay with her.

Stay with our girl.

You too, move.

- Steinmann.

It's gonna be okay.

Steinmann, it's Mason. Are you okay?

(door opening)

- What was the shooting, Jim?

- It's nothing. Steinmann got hurt.

- Are we under a new regime?

- No. Brief insurrection.

Dealt with.

- I fucked it up, didn't I?

(sighing)

- I'll get you home, Doug, okay?

- I'm sorry, Jim. I let you down.

- I said...

I'll get you home. Let's go.

- Fuck.

Fuck.

- Irvine is dead, we have no more conflict,

We need to get her out of here, or she's going to die.

- We need to kill that boy, or we're all dead.

We'll clear the way.

You get Harris and Steinmann ready for transport, okay?

- Jim-- - Shut up.

(gun cocking) Let's go.

(breathing raggedly)

- Come on up.

(moaning)

(clicking)

- What's that?

- Morphine.

There.

Don't worry, it won't be long.

(gunfire)

- Oh...

What...

What was... What was that?

That's not morphine. - Shhh-shhh.

Shhh.

(coughing)

(door opening)

- How's Steinmann?

- She didn't make it.

- I didn't suppose she would.

You tidying up?

They'll hear the shots, you know.

- Shhh. Now, it'll all be over in a second.

- Oops.

(explosion)

- I'll go check.

(alarm sounding)

(Powell): Dead mole rats.

No heads.

- I think our philosopher friend came this way.

- I'd agree with you.

- Jim? Jim!

They're gone. They've all gone.

Harris, Steinmann and Healy, they're all dead.

- You sure? - Yes, I'm sure.

(panting)

- Harris and Steinmann? - Something must've got them.

It's like a fucking war zone down there.

Looks like the medical facility got fragged.

- Fuck!

Are you certain? - Yes, I'm fucking certain.

- Fuck it, that blows this gig. I'll hitch a ride out with you.

I'm not getting paid anymore anyway.

There's an elevator this way.

- What are you talking about? What elevator?

- It was Healy's escape route. It's the main access shaft.

Only to be used if shit hits the fan.

The shit's hit the fucking fan. Let's go.

This is bullshit, man.

I could've been in fucking South Africa.

I'm stuck down in some shitty hole with mercs,

aliens running around everywhere.

Fucking bollocks.

Fuck, I'm not even fucking getting paid.

(alarm sounding)

(Russian-speaking electronic elevator voice)

(ding)

(electronic elevator voice) (ding)

(alarm sounding)

(electronic elevator voice) (ding)

(alarm sounding)

Don't know about you two,

but I'm not keen on meeting our head-blowing-off friend.

- That's someone else's problem now.

- Yeah, totally.

If we get the drop on him, I'll take him,

even though I'm not getting paid.

But I'm not going looking for him,

especially with that device of his.

- Shit. (screaming)

(electronic elevator voice)

Christ on a bike.

It's Corry.

- It's that syringe shit.

(distant gunfire)

(gunfire)

- Powell!

(groaning)

- Is he alright? - He's conscious.

Christ, Williams. What have they done to you?

You okay? - They don't like Georgians.

I did not know that.

- Crap gun.

Crap day.

- Who are they firing at?

- Where are Steinmann and Harris?

- They're gone.

- What the fuck are they firing at?

(laughing)

(man screaming)

- Shit. - Ah!!!

- Okay. Okay.

Okay, boss, you've got one shot at this.

You take him straight after he takes me.

- No. - Shut up.

What are you waiting for? Come on.

Come on, then!

(clicking and beeping)

iPhone batteries.

They always let you down, don't they?

(bird cawing)

(cawing)

(electronic voice): Go ahead.

Shoot me.

(raven flying away)

(old-style music): ¶ Visions like these ¶

¶ In my heart ¶

¶ There is no sadness ¶

¶ And all the world ¶

¶ Though great it seem ¶

¶ I would not give ¶

¶ My one sweet ¶

¶ Dream ¶

(Powell singing along) ¶ Don't wake me ¶

¶ I am dreaming ¶

¶ Dreaming of one I love ¶

¶ Dreaming... ¶

¶ Dreaming ¶

¶ Don't wake me up ¶

¶ I am dreaming ¶

¶ Where skies are blue ¶

¶ Above ¶¶

(announcement): Platform 3

for the 15:03 South West Trains service

to Guildford via Cobham and Stoke D'Abernon.

(music)

(distant sirens)

(music)

(heavy-metal music)

¶ You're like lambs to the slaughter ¶

¶ Stand in line and wait your turn ¶

¶ I am the destroyer ¶

¶ This thing you quickly learn ¶

¶ Have no fear and come with me ¶

¶ Enter my reality ¶

¶ I am your hybrid curse ¶

¶ This is my universe ¶

¶ No rest for the wicked ¶

¶ No rest till the work is done ¶

¶ No rest for the wicked ¶

¶ No peace for the chosen ones ¶

¶ Take your chance and start to run ¶

¶ This game of death has just begun ¶

¶ If you die I still exist ¶

¶ This will be your nemesis ¶

¶ No rest for the wicked ¶

¶ No rest till the work is done ¶

¶ No rest for the wicked ¶

¶ No peace for the chosen ones ¶

(guitar solo)

¶ Welcome to my sacrifice ¶

¶ Have you come to spend the night ¶

¶ Have no fear and come with me ¶

¶ Enter my reality ¶

¶ In this place where darkness dwells ¶

¶ You will face your private hells ¶

¶ In my labyrinth of fire ¶

¶ I will build your funeral pyre ¶

¶ No rest for the wicked ¶

¶ No rest till the work is done ¶

¶ No rest for the wicked ¶

¶ No peace for the chosen ones ¶¶

Subtitling: CNST, Montreal