| The harvest of the human seed, the Earth is a corpse field, collected
|
| On the wagons, catapulted into mass graces. |
| Foul air corrodes the
|
| Skin. |
| The trumpets sound the alarm of the overwhelming onslaught. |
| Deep
|
| Gaps do open, devouring the dead. |
| Horribly distorted faces leaking
|
| Decay. |
| No conflict resolution, no bond to fix the fault lines. |
| Take
|
| The breath from the Earth. |
| And again and again the clouds will come
|
| Split the sky, consume the drowning horizon. |
| Fire red as it flashes
|
| But does not thunder. |
| Embrace the hour of devastation. |
| Bringer of war
|
| Take the breath from the Earth. |
| Bringer of war. |
| Take the breath from
|
| The Earth. |
| There will never be peace. |
| we will never be safe again. |
| No
|
| Conflict resolution, no bond to fix the fault lines. |
| Take the breath
|
| From the Earth. |
| No history to tell, no legacy to leave behind, no
|
| Future generation. |
| Take the breath from the Earth. |
| Funeral for a
|
| Failing race. |
| A mass of graves where the soil bleeds. |
| Reborn from the
|
| Rotted caskets. |
| This is the harvest of the human seed. |
| The Earth is a
|
| Corpse field |