Lords, can it be mistakes throughout the constant vows of the lost and gone,
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blind and wrong
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Inside a faith without a home, a fire that is cold, but grows so well, who's to tell?
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About it all. A nation cannot see, the hardestt part to take is not for me, the dying trees.
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This is what wars are made of
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Haunted
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The readings cracked and grey and plagerized to date
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Altered by the bastards of pure disguise of seas and skies
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The pagan drums should wake
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The sleeping of the fools to forget the churches language
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Who's the fool me or you?
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The greatest mask of fate
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The longest battle throught the text of great predictiors
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For me and you, the old and new
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This is what wars are made of
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-----------------
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Landing On The Mountains Of Meggido
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| Down |
