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The Heretic's Age
Primordial
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Soiled hands of work, to pit a nations fall
Skeletal hands upon the coffers of the old world
Ghosts of men, re-writing history
Red ink, from the well of martyrdom
Words to drip from the traitors tongues
Waging a war between the crimson lines
The old heart of the earth
Divided, poisoned and ready for the fall
Valiant men
Are made to wear the devils mask
The scapegoats for a new age
Such words will bear the fruit of flesh
Tomorrows finger on the trigger
So, who heralds the grace of fallen empires?
Hymns to the ruination of majesty
He who inherits the dark crown of ill will
And the scorn of those deemed righteous men
We are valiant man
We wear the devils mask
The scapegoats for the new age
Such words will bear the fruit of flesh
Today's innocent
Tomorrows finger on the trigger
The gauntlet thrown, the baton tossed
By statute, by law, by divine decree
Impositions as kindling to the fire
The old heart of the earth is beating, with ancient blood
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