The question is, the cross is lost,
the question is we don't know the cost...
The question is, what lies at the door,
the question ism, what are we here for...
I lie, in this desolate sky, raining blood, drown the flood, here I waste my time.
Sundered shields, they had enough,
like backs of the slaves, of
endless work without any point,
only to, only to disappoint.
But in the end, the end of the things, there lies, there lies, the throne of the kings,
but when, but when, we reach for this mast, for we are now, bound to our past.
The question is, can we double our fists,
the question is, can we made it through the mists?
The question may be in our hearts,
the only way is to tear them apart.