Woorden: Dismember. Where Ironcrosses Grow. As The Coins Upon Your Eyes.

The sands of time are slipping through your fingers
Life's bitter journey, towards the end
Your time has come
Pass the threshold and beyond
With a conscience cold as the coins upon your eyes
Wear the flesh of fallen angels
Leave your earthly form behind
Across the seas of blood, to shores of the damned, nothingness surrounds now
Burning in this void, cleansed and remolded, stripped of a sinful past
A life of misery and pain, has come to it's end
All is black, all light has faded, howling demons tear your mind to shreds
Cast aside the flesh that binds you, what you want you shall become after death