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As pillars decay under the weight of a blackened sky,
This palace built upon lies on prophets winces from within.
And I, weary and forlorn, look towards winter's white veil,
That falls upon hallowed ground.

Is one life not enough?
Is one death not enough?

For when my head meets stone,
From my blood will rise a serpent,
That will take it's rightful place as the deity upon the pedestal.

Is one life not enough?
Is one death not enough?

Winter's white veil falls upon hallowed ground,
And by dawn my head will rest just under the rusted blade.

The deity upon the pedestal.

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