I woke with despair in my heart, from the pain of being alive.
Every second I spend on this earth makes me want to convulse and die.

Burn all the bones before they come to life.
Cut them down from their ceaseless strife.
You will fall, by the sword.
In the tomb, of the gravelord.

I learned how to deal with loss so many moons ago, I feel I'm dead inside but I will not subside.
One thousand eyes, shrouded in smoke, fingers of knives, in the devils cloak.

This sickness growing in your lungs, soon you'll be unable to scream,
trapped in this world of sorrow, you will fail, you will turn hollow.

Burn all the bones before they come to life.
Cut them down from their ceaseless strife.
You will fall. By the sword.
In the tomb. Of the gravelord.

The suffering you will endure,
will amount to nothing in the end,
your body will lay where the old one lies,
in the dark, in the cold, prepare to die.

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