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Too many voices in the fog
Each of them calling to his god
A harmony that sets their souls free while they rot
Tell your god he don't get my soul yet
Too many days lost in the swamp
Ancestors watching from the dark
A dream of fire, a funeral pyre will guide me home
To a nightmare of cinders and bones
Fire will guide me home!
There's no winter in this land,but time clings like frost to my icy hands
A shrine for your eyes, a feast for your teeth
Pull back the veil, find another veil underneath
He held her hand close to his face



As the last of his humanity drained into the ground
The setting sun painted the world blood red
As his mind fled back to the swamp, never to be found
Asleep in the pyre, asleep in the pyre!

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