The Green Fields filled with peace
Waving trees and cold wind

Prepared of the storm
Moments away
Slowly but surely
Swords and spears will fill me with fear

No hope
No escape
No fate
No crusade

Heartbeat increasing changes decreasing
Here they come
It won't be pleasing

In the midst of genocide, I lay here, no on by my side sickness, suicide
In the woods escaping without a breath return home

Surrounded no crater, where I'm sitting slow and painful
Meet with my MAKER
All I see is red now I know this isn't real

IN A CIRCLE OF FLAME
I SHALL
BURN