Из альбома: Homecoming's March
Here on guard at the farthest reaches of our lord's domain
I wait and watch spear in hand in the conquered realms of the old gods
The sun is beating down
Scorching barren lands
Bringing suffering to life
The long day wanes hanging low the baleful eye of light
Dusk falls across the land blackening my mood for who am I guarding?
And for what?
Fiendish desert winds
Whipping up the sands
Tearing at my eyes
Long has it been since we've heard from home assuring our cause
Is right all that is left to comfort is our final commands:
"Be vigilant and loyal for our goal is just
The truth is ours to shape, and the world is our anvil"
But is it enough?
Cruel, harsh winds have died
The whipping sands at rest
My eyes no longer torn
The moon drifts behind a cloud the cold is inviting invigorating
Darkness a placid relief from the oppressive sun
Velvet shroud of night
Blanketing the world
Graven silence reigns
Here on guard scarred by the wind burnt by the sun
Spear in hand I am left with my thoughts anticipation of the new day brings no relief