Lament of the Lamb
A turning of the world on its head
Division in time, seperates me from
What I am, and what I'm supposed to be
The breath of life leaves summer's
Golden days, like the rotting of flesh;
My home turned to dust
Something approaches over omnious
Hills, every craig and rock swirls
The air, an unrepresable blanket
It's a sickness, consuming the sweet
Blood of the lamb, medicine-thick
Darkness washes the heart of men
As I shake hands with death, I realize
That I was wrong
All is red