| The heralds of starfall, they’ve known it for long
|
| The woundwalker’s footprints, all faded and gone
|
| On the shores of nihil, there’s no sand but in our eves
|
| Still we cry
|
| The tides of November, they rise and they fall
|
| Drowning the last of ewers, once and for all
|
| In this blackwatergrave we all shall crawl
|
| This stormchild empire was built of fog and sand
|
| Now it has finally cone to meet it’s watery end
|
| The sands of these scabbed shores, now rubbed into our eyes
|
| Tis fog’s drowning all but our prayers and cries
|
| Still we cry a filthfinger finale for those about to die
|
| One more wave, one more breath
|
| One more wave, one more breath
|
| One more surge, one more death
|
| No god there to calm the seas
|
| But we drown with gratefulness and ease
|
| One more wave, one more surge
|
| The hungry black must feed it’s urge
|
| Abandon your lives to the waves
|
| Now let’s drink up our graves
|
| One more wave, one more breath
|
| The tides of November, the tides of death |