Artifacts

They tried to rip their skin apart.
Shedding blood over the walls that fed me peace.
A crawling feel to where my bones ache.

The disease is the madness that flows in their wounds.
But together we still fall as one.

We run - but still fall as one.
The weak - will have their ashes scattered.
The wounded - still rejects the serpent soul.
The harvest - still remains unbearing.

The screams, it feeds the core.
The worms ride the tides of blood.
And in this withering anguish.
We fall as one.

The disease is the madness that flows in their wounds.
But together we still fall as one.

We run - but still fall as one.
The weak - will have their ashes scattered.
The wounded - still rejects the serpent soul.
The harvest - still remains unbearing.

The reborn still thrives to be assembled and sane.
Although we reckon the harvest.
We're all like serpents.
We run - but still fall as one.
The weak - will have their ashes scattered.
The wounded - still rejects the serpent soul.
The harvest - still remains unbearing.