Rain… upon a tattered shield, Rinsing away the carnage here. Raised, in the distant sky, A banner strewn with puncture wounds. My eyes, they cannot see… Is this victory, for you or me? My breath still belongs to me. Did I fail to take yours from you?
For all that has been done, is this conflict won? Your loss is my gain, or so I have thought… Our pain is the birthright we are to attain.
Battering the fields, reducing branch to limb… All our blood will sate the thirst of ravens. Brothers in sorrow, we keen the same, despondent hymn - For we both know our legacy shall be forsaken.
Lo – Can you hear the sound Of glossolalia from carrion crow? Fed, from the tip of spears, A lawless offering, borne of fear. Ashen towns and sunken oars… Is this what we strive to be remembered for? Fleeting power from forgotten wars, Eclipsed by the throes of nature's course.
For all we think we are, we have gone too far. From all we think we know, the vines will grow. We feel we are the law, but the law of the universe is the only universal truth. It is a battle we will only lose, As we waste our ambitions and sacrifice our youth.
… Our sisters shall mercifully keen forevermore, For they all know their sons have been stolen. When our fields are stripped of life and limb, Shall we finally understand the weight of our sins?
When our songs fall upon deaf ear, Shall we be a common band united by fear?
Rain… to wash away our sins… To cleanse us of the blood upon our skin. Soil… to which we shall return… Nourished by the ashes from our deposed urns. The skies are lifted from crimson mist, As crows steal treasures from our clenching fists.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
