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lyrics
High seas, stormy violators, death chants,
eye against eye, tongue as a razor, warfare…
On way, irate
The spell of ache
Future regret, but now no remorse for the blame
in the end scars will tell us if it's worth
Now under the breeze the wind´s getting colder
it's mother of bliss, and bliss over knowledge
Who tries to get sight instead of being seen?
When vitriol means life no time to forgiveness, no!
Rised above the tomb of ages,
all manners of living night are destroying the mind precepts;
killing rites to summon death for twilight
No vital remains, the land devastated, the tragedy blows against the created forms
“Wide eyes, mors ab alto
Wild hearts, mors ab alto”
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