Now young faces grow sad and old and hearts of fire grow cold. We swore blood brothers against the wind. Now I'm ready to grow young again and hear your sister's voice calling us home across the open yards. Well maybe we'll cut someplace of our own with these drums and these guitars.
| Game | Time | WPM | Accuracy |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1001221 | 2024-02-03 03:15:05 | 148.40 | 97.6% |