I am the offspring of resignation adopted by the fires of discontent Optimism becomes an opiate Survival and glory to the brave Struggle stirs the human spirit kept keen on the grindstone of tiol Pain and fear light the fire But how high to stoke the flame? Burn Can the sheep be awakened? I see signs of life flicker and die Countless as the stars are our choices The road has forged before us now choose not this time,a new way must be forged Forged to or from hell we choose Salvation just within reach But how high must we stoke the flames? Burn,Burn,Burn The sanctimonius rabble cries louder Opposotion for its own sake All caught within this maze How many wolves are there among us? If dissipline os born through struggle... Where is it now ? Unconcious and buried by apathy A cleansing firestorm gathers and grows... The Cloudness nightsky glows at the horizon But the zenith remains black as pitch silent flashes like summer lightning Dawn approaches the morning Horned moon rises This morning will be like no other Firestorm awaits beneath the skuline Awaits to consume our timid world Because its time to burn again Thunder sounds a warning But no one stirs to rise Silence descends like a funerral shroud A final chance passes The firestorm consumes the dead Burn, Burn, Burn White phosphorous flames reaching higher Heaven chokes on the smoke Mesmerised by the light of their own death Burning out forever The dust borne by the wind... Slash and burn and slash and burn and turn to fire...
burn, firestorm, forged, stoke, slash