Scythe's cold edge thrustnSpreading blood on their facenBells toll the coming of their final daysnnRed flowers growingnTo mark all our tearsnThe pain and the anguishnWe're planting the seedsnnReaching forward, through the darknDead, marching forward, much colder than the cudnReaching forward, through the darknSpreading the soilbleed, no return when you're markednnContorted spiritnDistorted creednYou know that your time has comenWhen the soil bleedsnnContorted spiritnDistorted creednYou know that your time has comenWhen the soil bleedsnnRot and corrosionnThe throth in your lungsnThere is no releasenGasp despair through the mudnnRed flowers growingnTo mark all our tearsnThe pain and the anguishnWe're planting the seedsnnReaching forward, through the darknDead, marching forward, much colder than the cudnReaching forward, through the darknSpreading the soilbleed, no return when you're markednnContorted spiritnDistorted creednYou know that your time has comenWhen the soil bleedsnnContorted spiritnDistorted creednYou know that your time has comenWhen the soil bleeds
Soilbleed
Grendel
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