| Skies shift from blue to dark coal
|
| Immense weight of avern disturbs the mind
|
| And endless flow of pain
|
| Wound. |
| which won’t stop to bleed
|
| Highway that comes from Hell
|
| One-way signs painted everywhere
|
| Echoes flutter from afar
|
| Horrid howlings strike her heart
|
| She knows which is her fate
|
| She will suffer, again
|
| A canvas made of skin
|
| Where Dead write their Stories
|
| Pages of sadness, pages of pain
|
| Deeply engraved
|
| You shall not pass
|
| For this take my flesh
|
| I’ll comprise your Book of Blood
|
| On every inch of my skin
|
| Our stories must be know
|
| See the Light from our souls
|
| Your body may stop us now
|
| But how many times could you be reborn?
|
| Claws stab deeply your skin
|
| Millions of thin Rivers scribbled in red
|
| Your flesh won’t fall in vain
|
| Cause you are the Art of the Dead
|
| Skies shift from blue to dark coal
|
| Immense weight of avern disturbs the mind
|
| A canvas made of skin
|
| Where Dead write their Stories
|
| Pages of sadness, pages of pain
|
| Deeply engraved
|
| You shall not pass
|
| For this take my flesh
|
| I’ll comprise your Book of Blood
|
| On every inch of my skin |