The victors of war raging in their voilent wrath
A loom of clouded darkness wrapping the world
Death over shadowing life like a burning chaos
Within it all foaming under the bloodied sands
The fury, the miasma, the ferocity like wild hounds
Tearing apart the judgment, one by one, slowly
Of those who fell and those that finally survived
But at what cost? When their mind has already died
And for what reason? When their soul is already lost