Sanoja: After The Burial. Forging A Future Self. The Forfeit.

Every time your lips spill their poisonous words, they infect the ones you claimed to have cared for
We are gored by your serrated ways
We shed our faith, weve bled oceans for your cause
We shed our faith in your atrocity
Weve come to claim a thousand lives to live
Open hands will shape what little time we have
We exude our servitude to a lifetime of deceptive worship
Righteous hands will rise, if only to redeem the city of the gods
And in ourselves we trust
A thousand fists will rain
This mighty downpour will wash away
There is new hope in every open eye
Promise to ourselves that these words will never die
We exude our servant hood to a lifetime of immoral worship
Righteous hands will rise, if only to redeem the souls of the meek
Burn your spores so your plague will not manifest in the hearts of the innocent
And when the blackest day becomes forever grey, the ash will scatter of what has not remained
The ashes have buried you