• No stories have followed
    The ancient foretold
    of our bitter resentment
    To evisceration unfolds.

    On the bodies of dead,
    do we lie in vain.
    Of sweet pain and sorrow.
    We eradicate shame.

    For blood's in our nature,
    and fear in our hearts.
    To pierce through the frailty,
    Yet death never parts.

    Away from the grave do our saviors rise,
    in utter blasphemy and ever derived,
    from our own bitter conflict..
    Shall it bring our demise.

    Lose all infatuation with living at all,
    and swear to your blade..
    You'll never let fall.

    Rain over the thunder,
    of roaring fire and claim...
    that you've never before seen a better day.

    Than that in wich the village burns,
    to music flawlessly played upon broken bones.
    The dead dance effortlessly upon our souls.

    Cry to the heavens you falsely claim yours.
    And to the realms open yourself.
    And daggers to pierce every being,
    setting claim to a throne that never existed.

    Never have I seen a better day,
    then when my lifes set on desire..
    watching the cities in flame.