screaming sounds of the northwind you plan to head to the east towards the den of deceased tempting stench of the flesh the galleon waits to set sail your choise was to give up faith for evermore
cold inside the warmth is building silence of decades is free last call the icons fall reveal a prophecy of pain
eerie cloak black cane the guardian of the gate last nail to end the wait wallow in the carnal feast paint the scenery black you better watch your back for evermore
the thin line is crossed to make the masses aware the substitute a grim faced clone the circle is no longer a part of this life a sad clown with a wish to be saved once again